


Misguided

by MmeCurie



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Referenced and described rape and abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 341,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmeCurie/pseuds/MmeCurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor seeks to strike a balance between managing the battle against the Templars and making room for love. Contains adult themes including violence and sexual interactions between characters.  Takes place some two years after the events of ACIII.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

February, 1785

Dusk burns the cloudy sky with hues of winter-dulled orange and red cut by streaks of grey.  Its muted brilliance slowly recedes, giving way to deep purples and taking any remnant of the sun's warmth from the air with it.  Accompanying the growing dark is the sharp smell of more snow on the wind, come to undo the effects of a recent warm spell that had melted almost all the snow in the region except for some shadowy north facing areas.  The wind ruffles the piney fronds of evergreens and rattles the bare branches of clustered deciduous trees and bushes that blanket the western Great Valley and southern Adirondack mountains.  High in the branching fork of a tall, leafless tree a man crouches, waiting for wildlife to come his way.  He pulls his light grey hood farther forward to shield his face from the wind and rests a longbow across his thighs. Rubbing his eyes and face, he ponders giving up his attempt at getting a kill, for he had spent several hours in the tree with nothing to show for it. This time of year is always difficult enough; game often grows scarce as winter resists the onset of spring but the sound of a gunshot and distant shouts earlier in the evening had made the man shake his head at the added complication. The human incursion into this once plentiful region is sapping the population of game to a dangerously low level. The hunter must travel farther and stay out longer than ever before to trap and shoot with success yet part of his frustration is mitigated by a deep seated need to spend time in the forest whether he is successful or not. 

His younger years had been full of copious adventure yet also darkened by far too much tragedy, beginning when he was just a child and culminating many years later during the Revolutionary War.  Any attempts he makes at settling into a steady way of life leave him feeling anxious and restless. At times he will stay away from his home for months when his personal business takes him out of the mountainous regions and deep river valleys of the west and brings him to Boston, New York or other, more distant locales.  Whenever he can spare the time, he'll spend days hunting just for the peace he finds in solitude and in connecting with the deeper roots of nature. The hunter leans back against the trunk of the tree, breathing slowly to maintain his calm silence, and thinks about one of the first times he had truly set off to seek out the simplicity of the lonely forest once the fervor of the war had died down.  He had craved the company of silence and nature more than anything, for his mind was constantly gripped by memories of the cruel injustices of war and its far reaching consequences.  In time, occasional hunting trips increased in frequency and then became habit.  With his routine came the inevitable hours spent thinking about what he could have done differently to have altered the outcome of the war. It was during one of his more lengthy ruminations that he had stumbled upon a small cabin.  Deep in the woods between his village and the growing settlement called Albany, the cabin was hidden part way up a ravine overlooking a waterfall. The structure appeared to have been built right into a crevice in the rock walls of the cliff behind it, its log walls butting up to the stone face and sealed with river rock and clay. There was a look of occupancy to it from the curl of smoke coming from the chimney but the hunter's knocks and calls went unanswered. When he looked in one of the windows he had discovered an old man sitting hunched over in a chair before the dying fire. The hunter waited to see if the man would wake but he never did and no one else showed up.  The next morning, he tried the latch and found the door unlocked and the old man cold and lifeless.  

A solitary grave site in the trees now marks the final resting place of the cabin's former occupant. There seemed no sense in letting the place go to waste so the hunter took the place for himself as a camp he retreats to when he needs to spend time alone.  Conveniently, a hidden door in the back of the cabin conceals a natural cave where dry food and supplies are kept warm in winter and cool in summer. It is an ideal set up for a hunter for both its ingenuity and its secluded location. Only one close friend of the hunter's is aware of his camp and he had promised to retain the secret of its whereabouts. He views it as a sanctuary free of modern day constraints and the pull of responsibility. 

The sun is nearly set when the hunter decides to give up his fruitless endeavor. The branches of the leafless trees creak louder in the rising wind and snowflakes start to sift down from the heavy clouds, only to be blown about violently in curls and vortices created by the wintry gusts.  As he shifts to get up and sling his bow around his body, the tight ache in his right side reminds him that he is not as young as he used to be. Though only just into his thirties, his muscles already protest long periods spent crouched in trees and old injuries are quick to remind him of his tumultuous past. Once he gets to climbing, the pain subsides and he feels more like himself again. When he is almost to the bottom he pauses, his hands gripping the branches above him and his toes digging into the rough bark.  A noise on the wind carries to him from the south-east that sounds almost like the wail of a wild mountain lion but eerily more human. The sound makes him drop to the ground and tighten the straps across his chest that hold his quiver.  The cry comes again and the hunter follows it at an easy lope that carries him quickly and silently through the forest.  His curiosity takes him farther from the secret cabin by the falls but something about it draws him onward.  He nearly stops completely when the next time he hears the sound, it is a clear, piercing scream of a human in pain.  What makes the hunter feel ill is his certainty that it is a woman.

Fire smoke is in the air and a narrow track leads through the underbrush.  The night has closed in with the snow and wind, deepening the shadows and forcing the hunter to proceed more carefully despite his need to quickly reach the source of such distressing noises.  A monstrous obstruction lies across the path ahead and the hunter steps closer.  It is the carcass of a horse only newly deceased, too warm yet for snowflakes to collect on the shaggy hide.  Stopping momentarily, the hunter observes scrape marks in the dirt and signs of struggle; several people had been present at the time of the horse's demise. Its neck is pierced by a gun shot wound and the fur and ground around it are wet with blood when the hunter reaches down and touches them. There is nothing more to be learned from the animal so he continues along the path, picking up his pace to a run until the sounds of a man's shouting, accompanied by a woman's weeping and pleading cries, reach his ears between the screams, each one preceded by the crack of a lash.  The horrible sounds are clearly coming from a small cabin in the trees ahead. The hunter loosens his knife on the back of his belt, takes his hatchet out of its loop and balances the weight in his hand.  He swipes the hatchet before him once, listening the the way the air moves through its unique design. The blade is cut out in the center, creating the outline of a triangle and contributing to the distinctive whirring sound it makes when wielded. The peak of the triangle passes through a carved hole in the wooden handle, ending in a spike and the wide, cutting edge of the blade is curved and honed to a sharp bevel with two short prongs on each of the corners. A feather dangles from the handle just above the hunter's fist where he grips it tightly.  It has not been necessary to involve himself in combat for some weeks but this is now an unavoidable confrontation. There is no excuse for such heinous injustice to be done to another human, especially a woman.

Two saddled horses are tied to a single hitching post at the corner of the cabin. The hunter approaches and unloops the reins, tossing them over onto the horses' backs. He slaps them lightly on the rumps and they wander away from the cabin. The weeping coming from inside is sporadic and when the inevitable sound of the whip comes, the scream is ragged and weak.  The door to the cabin opens, unleashing an unshaven man dressed in dark clothing, a powerful stench of long unwashed linens and the soft, burbling sounds of a human enduring great suffering.   So as not to be discovered, the hunter conceals himself behind a tree and watches as the man starts urinating on the wall of the cabin next to the door.  He shouts to someone inside.

"The cap'n said she's too much trouble to keep around now so we might as well get rid a' her when we're done this time.  Pity we have to wait til e's finished wi' her first.  There won' be much left a' her." Unintelligible words come from someone inside. The pissing man spits on the ground and laughs in response as he finishes up his business but freezes when he feels the touch of an icy blade on his neck. The hunter drags the detestable man away from the open door by his collar, spinning him to face away from the door. The momentum and his grip on his unbuttoned breeches cause him to fall to his knees in the dirt. Before the man can raise an alarm, the hunter slits his throat and pushes him face down onto the frozen ground.  Leaving the man behind him, he quickly steps to the side of the door and looks inside.

The sound of another lash pierces the air but this time there is no scream following it, nor are there any sounds of weeping. An angry voice from inside rises loudly.

"You worthless whore... Wake up!" Two more whiplashes follow in close succession, the second far louder than the first. The interior of the cabin is dim, lit only by the dying embers of an untended fire and a lantern on a table set against the far wall. The building reeks of sweat, blood, burned food and smoke. The hunter steps over the threshold and lets his eyes adjust to the dimness. A hunched figure sits at the table with the lantern, eating something off the end of his knife. The man glances over towards where the hunter is standing in the doorway and then stands up, scraping the bit of food off his blade onto the plate and raising the knife towards the intruder.

"Who the hell are you? Get the fuck out!" When he gets no response, the man starts to walk towards the doorway but the hunter silently throws his hatchet with a smooth overhand motion, dropping the approaching man heavily to the floor. Moving quickly to the crumpled body, the hunter pulls his hatchet free from his skull and enters the adjacent room. Horrified, he stops just past the door frame, unable to move or look away from the gruesome sight before him. A woman in a torn and bloody sleeveless shift is hanging from a rope tied around her right wrist. The rope passes through an iron eyelet fixed to a beam in the ceiling and then is wrapped around a hook on the wall at waist height. Another rope hangs from a second, identical setup, the loop hanging empty and slack where she had perhaps pulled her other hand free at some point in her suffering. Her knees have buckled and there is a puddle of blood under her but the saturated hem of her skirt is obscuring where it is coming from. Though her back bleeds from her injuries, her wounds do not account for the quantity of blood on the floor. Both her free arm dangling just above the floor and the one tied over her head are covered in bloody scratches and murky bruises. Long, tangled, dark hair obscures her face and only partly conceals the torn state of her back. A stained straw mattress lies nearby; its purpose is clearly for the further abuse and violation of the woman.  With sadness, the hunter realizes he was too late to save the woman but at least her unspeakable suffering has ended forever. Anger and disgust fill his heart and he looks past the woman into the room to find her tormentor.

A small lantern hangs from a hook on the far wall and illuminates one side of a tall, thin man holding a coiled whip in his right hand. The light of the lantern reflects off his eyes and casts dark shadows on his angular face as he meets the hunter's stare with a defiant tilt to his head, his lip curling in an unspoken challenge. Hate threatens to blind the hunter as he tightens his grip on his hatchet, raising it up beside him as he moves past the woman. The thin man rushes him, taking a knife from his belt, but the hunter avoids him smoothly, raising his hatchet to deliver a killing blow. The man unexpectedly pulls up, blocking the hunter's swing and sweeping his legs out from under him with a slash of his whip. The hatchet skids across the floor, spinning, and comes to rest near the feet of the dead woman. Thinking he would be as easy a target as the other two, the hunter had badly underestimated the abilities of this man. Now consumed by a burning, righteous rage, he unsheathes his serrated hunting knife and rises to his feet, ready to grapple with his opponent.

They are fairly well matched in speed and agility, for both men are capable fighters. Dodging the whip, the hunter moves closer with every step, looking for an opening to dart in and slash with his knife. The man parries his attacks with skill but the hunter's greater strength and rage-fueled power steadily drives the man back toward the far wall of the cabin. In the final few feet of space, the wiry man swings his whip and manages to wrap it around the hunter's raised left arm. Thinking he has won an advantage, he sneers in confident satisfaction. Before he can pull his whip back to strike, the hunter grabs the braided leather cord in his hand and hauls the man towards him. Suddenly in a panic, the man swings his blade but the hunter ducks, burying his hunting knife into his opponent's stomach. The man doubles over with a groan, dropping the handle of the whip and clawing at the hilt of the hunter's knife. The hunter stands and grabs the front of the man's right shoulder with his left hand, raising him up by force. He wrenches the knife up vertically inside his adversary before quickly extracting it and stabbing him twice more in the neck, pushing the body backwards to fall against the wall. Taking the lantern off the hook, he smashes it onto the floor next to the dead man, splashing burning oil over the body and onto the cabin walls.

Breathing hard from the encounter, the hunter unwinds the whip from his arm and wipes a spatter of the man's blood off his face. He tosses the whip onto the burning body and watches it for a moment.  He knows he must bury the woman and at least give her body the respect of not burning together with her captors. When he turns to retrieve his hatchet, both it and the woman are gone. His heart pounds with shock that she is still alive. There are multiple shallow marks in the wall where she hacked with poor aim at the rope close to the hook. The pool of blood that had been under her is disturbed and spread out, slip marks and handprints revealing her struggles. They shine wetly in the lurid light of the burning body behind him and leave a trail for him to follow into the first room. Streaky handprints on the wall and table reveal an incredibly weakened state due to her torture and loss of blood. The hunter takes the lantern off the table and holds it up to illuminate the room. Dilapidated bunks and clutter take up the space but the woman is not there, only the body of the man he killed. He steps over the corpse, wipes his knife on the clothing and moves to the door, following the irregular spacing of smeared footprints on the floor. There is another bloody mark on the door frame and a small amount of dark blood in the dirt. The snow is falling at a steady rate and he knows he has to find the woman soon before her marks are obliterated. He sheathes the knife against his back, tosses the lantern into the center of the foul room behind him, pulls his hood up and walks away as the fuel ignites the bedding of the bunks.

The hunter carefully follows the intermittent trail of blood in the weak light of the clouded moon.  It heads almost directly towards a small hill near the cabin where a large boulder is partly hidden among the trees. Any fugitive would make for the woods as quickly as possible but her trail is extraordinarily easy to follow. As the terrain rises and becomes slippery, her trail changes from unevenly weighted marks in the dirt to a wide path of disturbed leaves. She had clearly fallen and started crawling. Another smear of blood low on the side of the boulder reveal her struggles to have become gravely worse. The hunter wasn't fighting the thin man for long and he reasons that she couldn't have gotten much farther in her state, especially if she is no longer able to walk. A fine white mist drifts from the other side of the boulder and relief fills him that she is there and is alive. Intentionally allowing his approach to be heard, the hunter's feet make crunching noises as he walks up the hill over dried leaves and crispy fresh snowfall. As he rounds the boulder the woman's knees come into sight. She is sitting on the leafy ground, leaning her left shoulder against the rock face with her head hanging down. Her hair obscures all of the front of her and her entire body shifts with each shivering breath.  When the hunter squats down in front of her she rears back with his hatchet in her hand. She lets out a hoarse shout as she swings his weapon towards his head. Calmly, he raises his left hand and catches her arm, stopping her swing before she is anywhere near hitting him. Her eyes widen in shock and she braces her left hand against the center of his chest and pushes while trying to free her other arm from his hand. Her fear and effort show in her face and in the throaty sounds she makes as she strains against his grip.

A wide trail of dried blood crusts her chin and neck below her bottom lip which is deeply split and swollen. Her eyes are wild and they dart between his hand, his face and off into the woods; she behaves very much like a terrified animal caught in a trap.  When she fails to free herself she claws desperately at his face, scratching him down his cheek and onto his neck before he can stop her.  He manages to capture her other hand as she attempts to scratch him again.  Utter panic takes her over as she fights his hold. She thrashes wildly against his grip, jerking her body spastically and screaming.

"Leave me alone! Let me go! Let go!" The hunter tries to talk to the woman but her hoarse, gravelly shrieks drown out anything he attempts to say. Reluctantly, he decides to restrain her further before she smashes her head against the rock in her frantic struggles. He pulls her away from the boulder by her forearms and she tries desperately to resist, screaming and bracing her knees but she is a small woman and he easily overrides her strength. A long length of the rope that held her is still tied to her wrist and it trails behind her as the hunter brings her to the side as gently as possible while she twists against his hands, arching her body and kicking her legs so hard she repeatedly lifts her hips right off the ground. He presses her down on her back, raising her arms up on either side of her head. When her back touches the frozen ground her screams become harsh, wordless and agonized until her voice gives out completely. She continues to kick her legs despite her inability to accomplish much in the way of movement.  The woman tosses her head from side to side, her mouth open in a soundless yell. The hunter straddles her waist to avoid being kicked and puts the tops of his feet just above her knees to hold her legs down, successfully quelling her erratic movement. Her strength lasts only moments longer, as she is weak, exhausted and in terrible pain from the trials she has been through.

She finally lies limp and quiet, her head turned away from the hunter's gaze. Her breathing is heavy and rapid from her exertions and the mist from her breath mingles with the hunter's as he assesses her state. Tears leak steadily from her eyes and run back into her hair, mingling with the sweat from her struggles.  Her face is puffy on one side from a nasty strike, clearly delivered by a closed fist. Rings of finger shaped bruises and red marks cover her neck and arms. Her wrists are rubbed raw from rope burns and her palms and the bottoms of her forearms beneath the hunter's palms are marred by long, lengthwise scratches and dried blood as if she had fallen or had been dragged. The front of her filthy shift is ripped open down the middle almost all the way to her waist, exposing countless bruises on her small breasts. Despite her ragged, injured state and blood covered face, she is very pretty and he wonders how she ended up a prisoner in this cabin out here in the woods, miles from anywhere. The place is desolate and except for the two of them, now uninhabited.  The only break to the silence of the snowy night are the sounds of the two horses he freed moving farther into the woods beyond his reach, no doubt reacting to the smoke of the fire he started.

The woman's heart is racing and her back burns from her weight pressing into the hard ground. The man holding her down looks at her body and she wonders when he is going to start raping her now that she has given up fighting against him. The metallic taste of blood is on her tongue from reopening the cut on her lip, adding to her already rising nausea, so she stares away into the darkness of the night and wishes to die.

"Please do not try to hit me with my tomahawk again." The man's voice is smooth and low and the woman turns her head to face him when he speaks. He articulates his words carefully, almost slowly, in a distinctive manner. Most of the man's face is cast in shadow from the deep hood he wears on his head, leaving only his mouth and chin fully visible. He has blood spattered across his massive chest and arms, black against the lighter shade of his jacket in the darkness of the night.  A few drops dot one of the beaded armbands tied high on each of his jacket sleeves. The top end of a bow extends beyond his left shoulder, the string crossing his chest diagonally and a quiver full of blue or grey fletched arrows is just visible behind his head. The woman's heart continues to race in fear. _He's a killer_ she thinks.  She had almost fallen over the two bodies at the cabin when she was escaping. _What does he want?_ She wishes he had just killed the men and let her free. If he wants her for himself, she wonders why he hasn't begun already.

"Let me go. Please." She pleads, barely able whisper through her swollen lip and aching throat.  The man's lips part slightly, as if he is surprised.

"I want to help you. I will let go of you if you will not try to hit me." The woman nods and he immediately releases his grip on her arms, sits back and raises his hands with his palms facing her. She stays still, wondering if he has lied to her or if this is some cruel game he is playing. Moving slowly, he shifts over to kneel at her side and she feels better without him straddling her and pinning her down so completely. She lifts her left hand from the dirt and reaches down to the tear in her clothing, pulling it closed over her breasts. The man moves his hands to his hood and pulls it back. The light of the burning cabin shines on his face, revealing sun darkened skin, a wide jawline, shadowed eyes, and black hair that falls to just past his chin. A single, thin braid embellished with beads on the bottom hangs from one side of his head and the top section of his hair is pulled back into a short ponytail. He is a man of one of the Indian tribes scattered throughout the wild American territories.  The scratches she gave him have left two trails of shining blood that curve from the side of his cheek, under his jaw and around to the front of his neck. They disappear under the front edge of his modern styled jacket. He is a giant of a man who looks fierce and extremely dangerous despite his offer to help and he looms over her.

"My name is Ratonhnhake:ton, but you can call me Connor. I am not going to harm you. Try to sit up. We need to get you someplace safe." Connor extends his hand towards the frightened woman and she flinches, dragging the feathered hatchet down through the dirt beside her until she can pull it to her chest, gripping it in both hands and awkwardly pointing the edge at him.  Connor watches the woman as she fumbles with his weapon.  If she wasn't so terrified of him, he would laugh at the useless way she thinks she could defend herself.  "I promise I will not hurt you. Keep my tomahawk if it makes you feel better but this storm will be worse soon and you will not survive without my help."

Connor rises to a crouched position with one knee on the ground and again reaches toward her. The woman finally shifts her body, reaching one hand back to push herself up to a sitting position, whimpering in pain. Even such a small movement is excruciating for her but she stubbornly shies away from his proffered assistance so Connor stands and watches as she somehow manages to get herself to her feet. She is favoring her left foot badly and it is seeping blood. The woman braces her hands against the boulder behind her and she appears to be steeling herself for more movement. She clutches the hatchet just below the blade and swallows, baring her bloodstained teeth at him when he motions with his fingers for her to come closer.

The woman is terribly afraid of the man before her. He seems to be concerned but she has no way to be sure. He looks savage and formidable where he stands in the light of the fire, looking down at her with his huge hand held out. _Maybe he'll rape and murder me later_.  She wants to vomit at the thought.  Thinking clearly has become a chore and the pain in her body is making her confusion worse. The longer she stands the more the world spins around her. The cold has numbed her foot slightly and she considers running from him. _No. It would only anger him. He would catch me in a moment. Lord, he's so tall… I'm so cold._ Her thoughts are mixed up and not making any sense. Closing her eyes, she tries to clear her head and stop the spinning. When she opens them the giant man is still standing there looking at her with his arm out. He doesn't seem to be giving any indication of leaving without her. The woman takes a breath. _What more do I have to lose if my fate should be in his hands or another's? I shall die anyway._ She moves her left foot forward and slowly lowers it down. The pain is like a strike of lightening shooting up her leg when she puts weight on it. Her knee buckles immediately and the man catches her left arm just above her elbow.   _He'll surely rape me now!_  the woman's mind screeches at her and she wrenches her body sideways to free herself, dropping the hatchet and scrabbling at his fingers with her right hand. If she still had a voice, she would have been screaming but like the worst kind of nightmare, only a ragged, breathy noise comes out. Her right foot slips toward him on the loose, wet leaves and the sudden shift in balance makes her body swing in an arc away from the boulder. Throwing her right arm out, she tries to grab hold of the ground but her fingers only turn up mulch and small rocks which give her no purchase. The man holds on to her arm so tightly it hurts but he slows her momentum and lowers her down to the ground.  At last he releases her. The frightened woman twists her upper body to face the ground and bows her forehead down to her hands, panting. When she raises her head, the hatchet catches her eyes. It's just out of reach and she frantically crawls over and snatches it into both of her hands, glancing back over her shoulder at the man and squeezing the handle tightly as if it could make her disappear if she willed it.

Connor watches the woman as she casts an almost feral look at him from where she lies on her belly in the dirt clutching the weapon. He sighs in frustration at the woman's willful insistence on resisting help despite her very thorough incapacitation.

"Listen to me. You cannot walk on that foot.  I must carry you. If you do not let me help you, you _will_ freeze to death tonight. Is that what you want?" Connor immediately wishes he hadn't spoken so harshly. The prostrate woman makes a choking sound in her throat and looks like she is going to vomit as she pulls her knees up under her body. Connor closes his eyes and shakes his head. He slowly walks around until he is in front of her again and crouches down to her, trying to make eye contact. Her left hand strays to the ripped portion of her shift and she clasps the frayed edges together with a shaking grasp.  "I am sorry. I know you have been through a lot. I am begging you to believe me when I say that will not hurt you."

The woman scrutinizes at his face for a long time, shivering as snowflakes collect in her hair. Connor nods at her once in encouragement but she squeezes her eyes shut and bows her head. _How much worse could things get? At least he's only one man and not three... If he does rape me I'm no worse off than I was only a short time ago_. _At least I will live just a little longer and not freeze like a beast in the wild._ Her bottom lip quivers for a moment and fresh tears run down her face but she presses her lips together, having made her decision.

"Alright." she whispers, looks of resignation and determination crossing her face in turn. Connor pulls his hood up and extends his hands to her. She leans away from them and takes a deep, quavering breath. Slowly, she releases her hold on her torn shift and reaches her left hand toward him. He lightly wraps his fingers around her elbow and gestures with his left hand for her to give him her other arm. The hatchet shakes in her grip as she raises her hand toward him and she becomes as rigid as a stone when his fingers touch her skin. He extends his arm out, sliding his palm along the underside of her forearm until he reaches her elbow. The woman watches his hand moving up her arm with a horrified look on her face, as if he is a venomous snake poised to bite. He closes his fingers around her elbow and draws her arm towards him.

"We need to stand up." The man has both of the woman's arms now and the world is spinning so rapidly before her eyes that she is sure she cannot stand again alone. For just a moment, she turns her face and meets his eyes, giving her assent by closing the fingers of her left hand on the fabric of his sleeve. A wave of nausea rolls over her and she looks away. She finds that she can control her dizziness better if she just focuses on one thing and at the moment it is the patterned band around his upper arm. His hands close tighter around her elbows and he stands slowly, lifting her up with him and allowing her to adjust her balance on her uninjured foot, stabilizing her when she falters.

"I am going to pick you up now. Are you ready?" he asks.  The woman starts to pull back from him but then stops, touching the tip of her tongue to her bleeding lip. In the darkness, her nod is almost imperceptible. The muscles in her forearm tense under Connor's hand as she clenches the handle of his tomahawk. He steps closer and moves his hands to her wrists, lifting her arms up and placing them around his neck. With her hands raised so high, her body is almost touching his. She keeps her head twisted away from his face as much as possible, her expression a contorted combination of terror and hopeless desperation. Small noises come from deep in her throat and her body trembles.  Connor gathers the rope dangling from her wrist and loops it around the back of his neck and over his shoulder to the front. The woman begins to shudder violently as he reaches around her body and places his right hand on her right shoulder blade. She inhales sharply and flinches away, only to bump against his chest. Her eyes squeeze shut as Connor replaces his hand on her and she stiffens under his touch, a restrained sob of fear escaping her. He bends to scoop her knees up and she gasps out in pain as her weight shifts onto his arm. She clutches at the back of his hood, jabbing a corner of the hatchet into his shoulder as she tries to arch her back off of his arm.

"I am sorry. I know this hurts. I will do my best not to make it worse but we have a long trip ahead of us." The woman bows her head and nods, panting through clenched teeth. Connor starts walking but despite his best efforts her erratic breathing and restrained whimpers give away her horrible discomfort. 

After a time, the woman lowers her head against her new captor's shoulder and tries to breathe slowly, focusing on anything but her pain and dizziness. The smell of wood smoke and leather come from the man's clothes, combined with wet fabric and the peppery, earthy scent of his body. The raw skin on her back chafes against his sleeve and she tries to pull herself off his arm whenever she can. Over time, her arms grow shaky from the effort and she has to lay back. The man continually turns his head to look at her but the misty fog from his breathing often obscures her view of his face in the moments when she can focus through the pain, making it impossible to read his expression. She is incredibly cold and shivers wrack her body; her teeth chatter loudly and her muscles feel frayed, adding to her pain. Finally she can no longer hold herself off of him and waves of pain unceasingly wash over her body as she trembles in his arms.

Some time later, Connor feels her grip around his neck weakening and she is fighting yet failing to keep her head up. Her warm exhalations misting into the cold night lessen in frequency as her shivering abates, giving him even greater cause to worry. The hand holding the hatchet slips into her lap and shortly after, her other arm drops behind him. Her head falls backwards but when he shakes her she weakly picks it up with a soft groan.

"Stay awake. You must not fall asleep." Connor shifts her so her head rests against his shoulder better but when she eventually loses consciousness it tips back again and her right hand slips from under the tomahawk on her lap.  Both of her arms dangle loosely from her shoulders and her bruised neck is stretched backwards. Melting snowflakes collect into beads of water on her skin that run down her arms, neck and chest. He shakes her to try to wake her up but all he gets from her is a quiet moan. Her long hair is soaked from the heavy snowfall and the bottom edges that hang almost to the ground are frozen and scraping against his leg as he walks. Connor debates whether he should stop and try to wrap her in his jacket but it would take so much time to rearrange all his gear that he fears he would lose his window of safety for the climb to the cabin. Despite the near white-out conditions, he has been making good time and decides to press on. He kneels to readjust her limp body, tucking her arms in against her abdomen and sliding his tomahawk into its place on his belt. Lifting her higher against his chest when he stands back up, she doesn't even react. Her head lolls against his neck and the only indication of life coming from her are the intermittent bursts of hazy warmth from her shallow breathing. Fortunately she is not very heavy and he wonders how long it has been since she has eaten a good meal. He can feel every rib under his fingers.

Connor starts jogging, knowing that she is beyond feeling any pain now and he just needs to get her warm as soon as possible. The snow has accumulated to the depth of his ankles and all he can think of is the final climb up the edge of the gorge. The path he takes brings them alongside a river and a cliff wall rises on the opposite bank. Before long, the trail leading up the gorge comes into sight and he slows down to catch his breath and prepare himself for the climb. If he slips now, he risks harming the woman further. Connor stops again to lift the woman onto his right shoulder and uses the rope to pull her right arm over so he can grasp her cold hand tightly next to his neck. Her hip bone is sharp against his shoulder and neck and digs in harder when he loops his arm across the backs of her thighs to hold her securely in place. Connor picks his way carefully up the steep trail and by the time he reaches the door to his cabin, he is sweating. Steam rises from his body and he hopes some of his heat has transferred to the lifeless woman he carries.

Inside the cabin, Connor carefully lowers the woman off his shoulder and eases her onto her back in front of the fireplace. He stoops over her, looking for signs of life. Her lips are purple-blue and cold to the touch.  If not for feeling her breath on his skin, she looks dead to him for the second time in just a few hours. The dark remnants from the morning's fire are just barely warm so he stirs the ash and digs up a few orange embers from the very bottom that he coaxes to ignite some kindling. Once the fire takes, he removes his dripping belt, bow, quiver, jacket and boots, sets the clothing items to dry near the fire and retrieves the top blanket off his bed. The woman's shift is soaking wet and sticking to her skin and can see her entire body through the translucent fabric. His eyes are drawn to her curving hips and small, shapely breasts, her hard nipples dark beneath the fabric. He tries not to look, feeling almost like he's raping her himself.

Connor pulls her up by her shoulders to get the blanket under her. He holds her against his chest with one arm and positions the blanket on the floor under her body before easing her back down, cradling her head with his hand and scooping her wet hair to the side so she isn't lying on it. One side of her torn shift has folded open, revealing the alabaster skin of a softly curved breast and the pink edge of an areola. A large, purple, thumb-shaped bruise stands out among the many smaller bruises, marring her delicate skin halfway between her nipple and breast bone. Connor clenches his teeth, feeling his hatred for her captors bubbling to the surface again. _How could any man use his superior strength to force a woman?_  He reaches for the torn edge to cover her up and notices more discolorations on her body showing through the fabric. His hand shakes as he looks down the length of her, seeing more than just her shape through the fabric this time. Her body is covered with bruises, most of them on her arms, breasts and the tops of her thighs. The marks on her neck seem recent, carrying a more reddish tinge than the others. Connor lightly touches the ones over her throat, knowing only the lowest of monsters could have done such terrible things to a woman. The one nasty bruise on her face has darkened into a dusky shade of purple and caused more swelling along her jaw and split lip. He doesn't want to think about the places he can't see as he flips the folded piece of her shift over to cover her. Anger fills his heart at such injustice and he directs it into being productive.

Connor reaches for his belt, takes his tomahawk out of its loop and places the handle into the woman's cold palm, curling her slender fingers around it before wrapping the blanket over her. He kneels by her feet and rubs her lower legs and ankles to get circulation back in them. Her skin is ghostly pale and icy cold. There is a deep, lengthwise slash on the sole of her left foot that seeps dark blood onto the floorboards. The fire is roaring, making Connor uncomfortably hot but he wants to make sure the woman's feet aren't frozen. Eventually, her whole body resumes its spastic shaking as it tries to regenerate her massive heat deficit. She moans hoarsely and moves her head. Within a few more minutes, she is trying to withdraw her feet from him. Connor decides that she is showing enough pain response that her feet didn't freeze and leaves her alone to wake up. He pulls the blanket down over her legs and brings a pillow from his bed for her, gently lifting her head and sliding it under, her teeth chattering so hard he can feel it through her skull. He thinks about cutting the rope off her wrist but then imagines the scene if she wakes up and sees him holding a knife over her. Instead, he collects some medicinal herbs from his travel bag and some cloth rags and starts heating water by the fire. He hears her moan again and when he turns to check on her she is opening her eyes and wincing in pain, still shivering uncontrollably.

The woman becomes aware of shaking pain.  Her feet are burning yet her body is so cold she can't stop trembling and her teeth chatter loudly in her head. Opening her eyes, she realizes that she is wrapped in a blanket and she is lying inside a cabin. In a panic, she thrashes herself to a sitting position, ignoring the agony shooting through her back and feet. The blanket falls off her shoulders, allowing her cold, sodden hair to hang down her back as she pants in terror. That Native Indian man, what was his name? Connor? He crouches by the fire watching her. Moving her hands to touch her clothing, she finds it wet but still there and the hatchet rests against her leg. She grabs the handle in her hand and squeezes it. Her hair drips water and it sticks to her arms, making the blanket damp around her. The man continues to silently watch her as she pulls the blanket back up and wraps it tightly around herself while fumbling to hold the hatchet. Her shivers come in powerful waves.

"You are safe here," Connor says to her. His eyes glow brightly in the firelight.  "When you warm up more, I will need to clean that gash on your foot." He returns his attention to poking at some things in a bowl of water by the fire. The wind rattles against the windows across the room, the sound merging with the crackling of the fire. Looking around, the woman observes her surroundings. The log cabin they occupy isn't very big; it's a single room. The only access door is to the left of the fireplace where she is sitting. There is a window on the other side of the stone chimney. Opposite the wall with the fireplace is a large bed centered against the rear of the cabin. To the left of the bed is a chair and some open space; to the right is a small shelf that connects to an entire row of low shelves along the adjoining wall filled with various household items, a few books and not much else. Above the shelving are two small windows spaced evenly on the wall. The fourth wall opposite the shelves has a small table with an unlit lantern on it centered along the windowless wall. Two chairs sit by the table, one pushed in and the other at an angle facing the fireplace. It's a sparse living place but it is clean and well kept, unlike the previous cabin she had spent time in.

After a few minutes, Connor gets up and ignites a piece of kindling, brings it to the table and lights the lantern. When it is glowing brightly he carries it over and places it beside her ankles. He sits down and crosses his legs by her feet, moving the bowl of water closer. Looking at her, he gestures to the bowl.

"These are cleansing herbs in warm water for washing your wounds and to help you heal but I have to touch you to use them." Connor starts slowly reaching towards her legs and she lets him take her feet up across his lap. He uses his hand to bend her legs at the knees and then scoots himself forward a little more. His brow creases as he leans to the side and examines her left foot by the light of the lantern. The burning pain has faded and it only hurts when he touches the slash on her foot. His hands and the rag he is using feel overly hot on her cold skin as he washes the dirt from her foot and raw ankle. She tries to hold in her pain but she still flinches when he wipes her wound with the rag. She watches Connor as he lightly holds her foot and ankle in his large, dark hands. There is a scar on his right cheek just above the scratches she gave him earlier. He looks over at her from time to time as he is working and now that he is cast in brighter light, he doesn't seem to be as heavily featured as the few Indians she had seen before.

Connor finishes cleaning out her foot and puts some warm, steeped leaves on her wound, wrapping her foot tightly in rags. The pressure hurts at first but the pain resolves into stinging as her foot becomes warmer. He picks up her right foot, briefly inspects it and gently cleans it before letting it back down again. After getting up, renewing the water and herbs in the bowl and sitting back down by her feet, Connor leans towards her and she panics at his unexpected approach, falling backwards onto her elbows and grimacing in pain. The hatchet falls off her lap and clangs against the wooden floor loudly.

"I just want to see your wrists," he says quietly as he holds his hand out to her. The woman reaches her right hand to his and he takes it to gently pull her back up into a sitting position again. His hand is warm and despite the revulsion she feels at his physical contact, the heat on her skin is blessedly warm and soothing. She tugs the blanket up over herself with her left hand while Connor turns her palm up and switches her hand into his left, his fingers across the back of her hand and his thumb over her palm. Tilting her hand back slightly, he plucks at the knotted, wet rope still tied around her wrist.  Blue veins show through her raw, nearly transparent skin, the dark scratches that mar the underside of her forearm standing out and appearing almost black in the firelight. Her hand is freezing and the tremors of her shivering body transfer through her arm to him.

"I cannot untie this. I need to cut it." He picks up a small knife that she hadn't seen before and brings it towards her wrist. She hisses and pulls her hand away but Connor keeps his hold on her, turning his body and extending his arm to match her movement. When all she accomplishes is pulling him closer to her she stills, barely breathing for her fear.  "I am not going to hurt you." Connor meets her frightened eyes and hesitantly, she lets him draw her hand back. Carefully, he slides the blade under the rope and cuts it off with a sawing motion. When he releases her hand she retracts it quickly to her body and pulls the blanket more fully over herself as she tries to settle her nausea.  Connor speaks to her bowed head.

"I told you I will not hurt you." He puts the knife at his side again and gathers up the length of rope, tugging it out from under her leg and tossing it into the fire where it sizzles and hisses before curling orange in the flames and burning to ash.  Though rope is generally a precious commodity so far from any cities or towns, the woman notes he destroyed it without a second glance.  He seems unperturbed by such a loss and the woman is glad it's gone.  Connor holds his hand out towards her and she slowly extends her arm to him so he can clean her cuts and reddened wrist with the warm water. Though his hand is large enough to completely cover hers, his touch is light. He reaches higher with the rag and cups the inside of her elbow in his hand, holding her fingers gently in his other as he softly wipes her forearm scratches with a pulling motion towards her wrist. The water stings her arm but the warmth permeates her skin and sends tingles up her arm. Each time he runs the cloth down her arm, more dried blood and grime come off, revealing her pale skin and horrid bruises. She is shocked at how filthy she is, not having noticed it when she had been in the clutches of those men. She is less hesitant when he finishes and so she gives him her other hand more willingly. He smiles at her encouragingly and repeats his gentle ablutions. When he is done he shifts slightly and looks at her.

"Your lip is cut. I would like to look at it." The woman doesn't move or speak so Connor takes the bowl of water and the lantern and moves up towards her side slowly. He sits back on his heels and reaches for her face with his left hand. She slightly shakes her head and turns away.  "Please, let me look at you." She turns her face back and allows him to reach the rest of the way toward her and lightly pull her swollen lip down with his thumb to examine the cut. He lifts the rag with his other hand, squeezes it over the bowl and brings it towards her face but the woman grasps his wrist in her hand, stopping him. After a moment, she relaxes but keeps her hand on his wrist as he brings the rag to her face. She flinches when he places it on her lips, holding it so it only covers the bloodied portion. He cups the uninjured right side of her face in his left hand and she finally meets his eyes.

Connor's face is close to hers and he can sense the fear that emanates from her as clearly as the battering waves of an ocean storm smash against a ship. The hand holding his wrist trembles and he admires her willpower. Her neck is rigid with tension, she is breathing shallowly and he knows she wants nothing more than distance between them yet she is allowing him to hold the cloth against her. When he starts to dab at her lip she tightens her grip on his wrist but relaxes again after a moment. Once the cut is clean, he softly wipes the blood from her chin and down her neck but when he nears her collarbones she suddenly pushes hard at his wrist, twisting her head away from his hand with a throaty cry. He leans back away from her.

"I will not touch you anymore." Connor gets up and opens the cabin door to empty the bowl. When he returns to the fire he refills it with warm water and places it and the cloth within her reach.  "If you wish to clean up more, you may. I will prepare something to eat." Gathering the other items, he takes the lantern and leaves her alone while he goes to the back of the cabin and pulls open a hidden door on the wall beside the bed. He stays back there for some time and she can hear him moving things around. Painfully, she shifts her body until she is kneeling facing the fire and lowers the blanket off her shoulders. She uses the rag to finish washing her face but avoids her swollen lip, as it feels raw from Connor's attention. The remaining blood crusted to her neck comes off with some scrubbing and then she carefully wipes down her upper arms. Warmth radiates into her sore muscles and she pulls her wet hair to the side and holds the rag to the back of her neck for a moment before running it down her chest and under the torn edges of her shift. Her shivering seems to be letting up and she closes her eyes and lets the heat of the fire warm her face while listening for any sign of the man coming back. Her eyes feel gritty from exhaustion and tension.

Connor stops at the doorway on his way back into the cabin and watches as the woman presses the rag to her neck. She has dropped the blanket from her shoulders and as she continues to wash he can see the full length of her back facing him. Her shift is ripped in several places across her back, and one rip in particular that traverses the length of her torso diagonally is steeped in blood that has stained its way to her waist. The slash starts at the top of her right shoulder and travels in a wide arc down to her left hip. Her skin isn't torn along the entire length of the slash but enough of it is that it must be incredibly painful for her to move at all. No wonder she couldn't tolerate contact to her back. He hadn't seen how deeply her skin was cut by the whipping she had gotten when he first saw her at the cabin. Numerous bloody gashes are visible through the tears in her shift surrounding the largest lash.

The woman suddenly becomes very still and then starts feeling for the hatchet by her side. Connor rattles the things in his hands and shuffles among some items on a shelf before casually walking out and shutting the door behind him with his foot. The woman pulls the blanket back up as he walks toward her and Connor makes sure he gives her a lot of room while he boils some oats. The woman turns herself so she is facing him again as he cooks and draws her knees upwards under the blanket.

"You killed the one with the whip?" Her hoarse voice startles him and he looks over at her.

"Yes. I killed them all.  No one will ever hurt you like that again." Nodding with a sickened shudder at Connor's assurance, she turns her face towards the fire, making it clear she is done talking. Connor seasons the oats with crushed mint and pours hot water into a mug, sprinkling dry chamomile flowers, a couple cloves and a few weak pain relieving herbs into it, hoping that the tea will help her relax. He puts the mug and a bowl of the oats with a spoon down next to her and then retreats to the table to eat. He watches her sitting rigid and stoic while he eats several spoon fulls of the meal and is relieved when she eventually takes up her mug and sips from it, holding the warm stone vessel with both her hands, sometimes just touching it to her face. She watches him out of the corners of her light eyes like a trapped, feral creature, reflections of the fire moving in them. Hunger gets the better of her at last and she exchanges the mug for the bowl. Even eating appears painful for her because of her cut lip and bruised cheek and she chews slowly and carefully, holding the bowl close to her face and balanced on her knees.

Connor gathers up the cooking and washing items and tidies up the small cabin while the woman continues to slowly eat, her eyes following him everywhere. He considers waiting to take the empty bowl from her but decides to simply give her space. At the back of the room he takes off his shirt, gets into his bed and snuffs the lantern. After a long time the woman places her mug and bowl to the side of the fireplace and peeks over her shoulder at him. He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. Gingerly, she lies down on her side and tucks her knees up tightly to her chest. The hatchet clinks quietly on the floor as she shifts it where she can grasp it easily. Her arm moves out from under the blanket and it looks like she is wiping a tear. Connor doesn't blame her for crying after what she has been through.

The woman can't help but wonder what will become of her. _Am I truly safe, as he claims I am?_ Tears sting her eyes and she wishes she were dead instead of the prisoner of this man now, no matter how kind he seems to be. He killed three men this night and he could easily kill her as well.  She eventually falls into a fitful sleep, plagued by whimpers and starts. Connor gets up and takes her bowl from in front of the fire. He longs to pick her up and put her in his bed so she can sleep on a soft mattress instead of the hard floor but it would only terrify her and cause her more pain in the process. Instead, he returns to the storage area and rummages in his accumulated collection of hides and furs, pulling out a large bear hide. He drapes it over her with the fur side down to help her stay warm. She shifts with a gasp but doesn't wake.  Connor watches her steady breathing resume once again.  Her hair has mostly dried and her dark curls and waves are in piles on the floor behind her and over her shoulder where her hand clutches the pillow. Not wanting her to wake and see him so close, Connor returns to his bed and restlessly thinks about the strange way his day has ended.


	2. Day Two

The morning sun shines brightly through the windows of the cabin when the sound of footsteps wakes the woman from her painful position on the hard floor. Her bladder feels like it's going to explode and her entire body aches and wants to fall to pieces with every breath she takes. She stirs uncomfortably and struggles to move her numb arm out from under her body. Every movement she makes is drenched in burning agony. Unable to withhold the groan that escapes her when the skin of her back is subjected to even the minutest shifts of her shoulders, she clenches her teeth and lies limply on the floor, gasping. Long hair from a weighty black fur pelt covering her ruffles against her skin in her exhalation, tickling her face, yet she refrains from moving her arm to stop it. Out of the corner of her eye she catches movement.  In fear, she turns her head and winces as her whipped skin sends new surges of pain through her.  She can just make out from the edges of her sight Connor standing next to his bed pulling a shirt on over his bare torso. Three black, diagonal tattooed lines punctuated by downward facing triangles follow the angle of his ribcage traversing the right side of his muscular body in an artful interpretation of parallel bleeding scratches. Below the tattoos is a huge, round, puckered scar on the side of his stomach; it appears he was shot or stabbed by something. When he notices her watching him he hurriedly finishes pulling his shirt down. He walks over to pick something up off the table and then comes to the fireplace and crouches down an arm's length away. In his hand is a mug of some kind of tea and he offers it to her, placing it on the floor within her reach.

"It will help with the pain." Connor says softly.  The woman fights through her discomfort and slowly pushes her painful, broken body up to a sitting position to take the mug in her hands. Uncomfortable at his closeness, she keeps her eyes cast down towards her hold on the mug. It contains a pale brew with a collection of leaves sitting on the bottom and has a strong herbal scent.  When the woman takes a tiny sip, it's bitter and sharp tasting. She grimaces and holds the mug away, covering her mouth with the back of one hand and shaking her head. "It tastes bad but it will help you." Connor presses his fingertips against the side of the vessel and guides it back toward her before getting up and walking toward the table. She obediently takes a few more sips, trying not to taste the odd, astringent flavor. The result of drinking is another painful urge to urinate and she puts the mug down on the floor.

"Connor…" the woman dares to speak up out of her desperation; it overrides her fear.  Connor turns quickly, startled, to face her when she says his name. Her voice is clear and soft, unlike the previous evening when it was hoarse and ragged. He returns to her side and squats down, looking at her eyes. They are a striking blue-grey in the daylight, framed by long, dark, curling lashes. The color reminds him of the sea on an overcast day. She pulls the blanket around her tightly and winces at the pressure against her back. A square of sunlight crosses partially over her from the window, illuminating russet undertones in her dark hair when she turns her head to break his gaze.

"What is it?"  Connor gently encourages her.  She remains silent for a moment longer, keeping her eyes tilted away from him.

"I need to… use the privy..." she drops her head and looks at the floor, ashamed to have to mention such intimate needs yet Connor doesn't seem perturbed by her statement.

"There is an outhouse nearby. The snow is deep but if you think you can walk I will wrap your feet." He stands up and folds his hands in front of himself, near enough to help if necessary but, remembering her reaction the last time he tried to take her arm, he allows her to get herself up. Seeing her pain clearly on her face as she moves, he has to clench his hands to keep from reaching out to help her. She holds onto the round river stones around the fireplace with one hand, clutching the blanket with the other and carefully tries to put weight on her left foot. After several determined but unsuccessful attempts to bear any weight on it, accompanied by increasingly frustrated sighs and winces, she takes a shaking breath and looks up at Connor. He knew she would not be capable of walking, considering how deep the wound on her foot was. The plants he had administered promote healing and reduce the likelihood of infection but they aren't a magical potion.  He makes a waiting gesture at the woman before him.

"Just give me a minute." he says. Connor goes to the door and puts on his jacket and tall, fringed boots before coming back to where she stands. The tomahawk is just visible under the bear fur on the floor so he bends down and picks it up, offering it to her handle first with his fingers looped through the open portion of the blade. The woman's position against the fireplace allows her to lean against it and reach her left hand out toward the weapon. Doubt and suspicion fill her heart and her hand hovers over the curved wooden handle. The feather attached to it dangles in the space between them, spinning in the air. Connor is watching her face when she raises her eyes to his and seizes the hatchet from him with a furtive flash of her hand. His expression doesn't change when she lowers the weapon under the blanket but his empty hand remains partly extended and his eyes seem to pierce deeper into her. His irises are an unusual dark golden amber and convey a vast amount of unspoken things that she is unable to decipher. He extends his arms towards her with his hands turned palm up.

"Whenever you are ready." He says with a small nod.  Holding the blanket closed at her neck with her right hand, the woman reaches her left, still gripping the weapon tightly, to his arm. Connor guides her hand up to his shoulder, steps closer to her and then picks her up with his right arm under her buttocks instead of putting his arm around her waist. He presses his left hand against her side to stabilize her. She holds herself up with her arm around his shoulders, her tense position bringing her face close to his neck. The scratch she gave him is before her eyes, a double trail of red on his face and neck starting just below the old scar on his cheekbone. She again can't help but notice the smoky, piney, masculine scent of his skin and the subtle aroma of the herb infused water she had bathed with last night.

Connor carries her to the door and when he opens it, a blast of icy air and the roar of falling water fill the cabin. The sun on the snow is blinding and bright after the comparative darkness of the cabin and the light reaches into the interior space. Connor ducks slightly as he passes through the door but the woman instinctively lowers her head anyway, causing her cheek to brush against his hair. In the time it takes for Connor to close the door behind him and reach the end of the small covered porch, her eyes have adjusted to the brilliant, bright light of morning. The porch overlooks a rocky gorge with a waterfall cascading from high above on the opposite side. The gorge is cavernous and the water falls down beyond the view from the porch. A deep bass rumbling far below can be felt through the ground, though the snow muffles it partly and it's further dispersed by Connor's body. If not for her sickening nausea at the necessity of such intimate contact and her being trapped in this isolated place with an unfamiliar man, the frightened woman might have enjoyed the view.

Being up against him is stretching the woman's nerves almost to breaking and her heart is racing. She feels helpless and vulnerable despite holding the hatchet in her hand. Connor could overpower her regardless of whether she carries a weapon or not and she knows he's aware of that, given how he handed her the hatchet in such an unconcerned manner. She wonders if his intent is to make her feel safer by arming her but it merely underscores that he's more than capable of stopping her if she attacks him. Turning her head away from Connor, she takes in the area surrounding the cabin. Just a few hundred square feet of treeless, open space encircles the sides of the cabin not abutting the cliff face before the woods close in. A long, winding indent in the snow along the edge of the gorge leading down and out of sight among the trees far below marks the only trail to the cabin. _He carried me all the way up that treacherous route to this place! How long was I unconscious?_ The woman only vaguely recalls being in among trees while he carried her on flat ground. There had been no indication of water anywhere nearby except for the silent, freezing snowfall.

Connor reaches down and pulls the woman's right leg up from behind her knee, holding it against his left hip as he steps down from the porch. His act startles her and she lets out a choking squeak of panic. Her body stiffens as she resists his hold on her and she pushes against his shoulder. Muscles in the side of her thigh contract convulsively beneath his hand as she tries to lower her leg and escape him. He lets her leg slip from his grasp and, turning around, sets her feet down on the porch. Stumbling backwards, the frightened woman crashes into the side of the cabin wall, only barely breaking the impact with her arm. Somehow she stays standing but she's stricken with fear, casting her eyes from side to side and panting in terror. She backs up further, leaving uneven footprints in the lightly sifted snow coating the weathered boards of the porch.

"I meant no harm to you! I want to keep your feet out of the snow. Unless I put you over my shoulder or carry you with your back against my arm, you will need to put your legs around me." If not for her awful need, terrible pain and injured foot the woman would have fled back into the cabin and away from him. She hardens her heart toward her roiling emotions and bitter, rising nausea. For a moment, she lowers her eyes to the porch floor before looking back up at him. Her lips compress tightly and then she heaves a soft sigh as her shoulders drop. Connor seems to understand her decision and approaches her, bending down so she can put her arm around his neck again. He reaches behind her and cautiously picks her up. Wanting to weep, the woman bends her knees and wraps her legs around his waist. She suffers from the feel of his hand on the side of her body so she closes her eyes but images of her captors holding her down and forcing her legs apart fill her mind and she reopens them quickly, choosing instead to watch the fresh tracks Connor makes as he forges a path through the snow away from the tiny cabin. The snow reaches almost up to his knees but he moves quickly towards a small structure partly hidden by some trees. He kicks the snow to clear an area in front of the door to the outhouse and then sets her down lightly on the frozen ground, his arm sliding over her backside as he releases her. The grass is crisp with ice under her right foot and she reluctantly grips his arm for a moment to steady her balance. When she does, he closes his large hand over her elbow and she has to fight against her instinct to jerk away. The last thing she needs is to be struggling in the snow, panicking with a full bladder. To her surprise, Connor releases her almost immediately, as if he had burned himself. He turns his body and gestures with his left arm.

"I will be over by the cliff there. When you come out I will return." He walks away after she nods, so she pulls the door open, hops awkwardly inside and shuts herself in, sliding the handle of the hatchet through the pull on the door. Covering her face, she almost sobs as she finally empties her aching bladder. When she limps back out, Connor is filling a bucket by the cliff with chunks of ice that had formed from a rivulet of frozen water running down the cliff wall. Afraid to call out to him, she closes the door hard enough to make a noise instead. At the sound, Connor turns and strides over to carry her back to the cabin. Without hesitation, the woman raises her arm up to him so he can lift her and she compliantly holds on with her legs. Her only goal is to get the process over with as soon as possible. Inside, she sinks to her hands and knees on the fur with relief when he puts her down, her hair falling forward over her shoulders and covering her hands on the floor. Once he is no longer in physical contact with her, she manages to calm her racing heart. Her back is stinging and aching badly and she does her best to hide her discomfort as she raises herself off her hands and sits back on her heels.

Connor refills her mug of the bitter drink and offers her a bowl with more of the cooked oats as well as some smoked meat to eat. She takes the things from his hands, only looking at his face for a moment before turning away. The woman is an enigma to him, wresting away one moment and acquiescing readily the next while retaining the same fear and distrust in her eyes so he sits at the table, leaving her to her thoughts for a while. After several minutes of almost complete silence, broken only by the scrape of their utensils on the edge of the bowls as they eat, he tries to get her to converse.

"What can I call you? I do not know your name." He speaks softly, almost afraid she will get up and run away for asking.  She regards him from her place by the fire, holding the spoon halfway between the bowl in her hand and her bruised face.

"Catherine." she answers Connor so quietly he almost doesn't hear her.  

"Catherine." He repeats her name and looks carefully at her, as if physically attaching her name to her face. "Where are you from?"

"New York." Catherine doesn't offer anything more and they pass several more minutes in silence. Connor looks around the room and runs his finger along the edge of the table restlessly.

"Catherine, I am going to go out hunting. I will be gone for at least two or three hours." He gestures to a mortar full of crushed, dried herbs, a bowl and the large pot of water beside the fireplace.  "You may use whatever you need for yourself." Catherine nods acknowledgment and Connor puts his bow, quiver and his sturdy belt on over his jacket. He tucks his large hunting knife into a sheath on the back of his belt and reaches to his hip only to touch an empty loop. He briefly glances at her and then goes out, returning after only a minute with the bucket of ice chunks, which he sets by the fireplace before leaving again.

Once she's alone, Catherine decides to act on Connor's subtle suggestion to bathe. She gathers her shift up from the bottom and starts to slide it over her head. Raising her arms up is painful but nothing compared to having to pull the tattered fabric off of her back where it has dried into the blood crusting her wounds. She tries separating it slowly but it's too agonizing. In a moment of hasty desperation, she gathers the fabric as far down as she can reach and tears if off her skin in a sudden motion. Her many wounds reopen, burning painfully and causing her to cry out loudly and double over towards the floor as fresh trickles of blood run down her sides. Her back throbs as she waits for the worst pain to recede and when she looks at her shift she becomes queasy at the sight of it. It's dirty and torn to pieces. Dried blood flakes off as she moves the material in her hands and the smell of it makes her gag. It stinks of that place, the men who violated her, old blood and new. If she could only throw it in the fire she could be rid of it but then she would be left with nothing to wear. Her whole body reeks of filth, blood and rape and the idea of being clean enables her break free of the trance she has fallen into as she stares at the stained item in her hands.

Throwing the crumpled shift aside with a gasp, Catherine looks over what Connor had left for her. She scoops water from the large pot into the bowl, sprinkles in some of the herbs and dips a soft cloth into it. Slowly she washes herself and the water turns a hideous shade of brownish grey as it fouls from the accumulated dirt and blood coming off of her body. She pours the water slowly into one side of the fireplace and watches the steam rush up into the chimney and out into the room. She puts two large pieces of wood on the fire to keep it burning hotly and takes more water to continue on. The bruises on her breasts and thighs from the men forcing themselves on her are a combination of colors ranging from livid purple to faded brown and yellow. Scratches on her arms and gashes on her knees remind her of her futile attempts to fight them or free herself.

By the time Catherine has finished cleansing her battered body she is weeping openly, remembering every awful intrusion and forceful restraint. The only place she can't reach is the center of her back but she washes her hair and lets her wet strands drip water down it. Though it stings and smarts with every trickle, some of the unreachable grime is rinsed away as she holds her arms across her chest and bends her upper body down over her knees to sob for all the horrors she has endured. Catherine releases the pent up tears she had been afraid to cry while in her prison, for anything other than silence would only draw her captors to her and result in further abuse. Shakily, she sits back onto her heels with a groan and drags her shift over. She refills the bowl, submerges her shift and scrubs it, forcing her mind to calmness and letting her shaking sobs gradually subside. She changes the water in the bowl until finally it stays clear.

The drink Connor gave her earlier has begun to dull her senses. It has reduced her pain as he had promised but she is fighting the need to close her eyes and the steamy air in the cabin only adds to her lassitude. Catherine wrings out her shift and spreads it over the bear hide in front of the fire. It does seem to appear cleaner, if no less tattered. Her damp hair chills her skin and the trails of water running down her sides from it make her shiver so she wraps the blanket around herself. Her eyes are gritty from weeping and she wants nothing more than to go to sleep but she has spread her shift out where she would lay. She remembers the pain of waking after a night on the floor and against her will, her eyes stray to Connor's bed.  Her stomach clenches at the thought of him finding her there and what he might do to her for it. Her head feels too heavy on her neck and at last, when she can bear it no longer, she decides to take a short nap but rise before Connor returns. Catherine picks up the hatchet and crawls over to Connor's bed. She slides the hatchet under the pillow, drags herself up, lies on her side and pulls his blankets to her chin. Her body sinks blissfully into the cool, soft straw mattress but the linen is redolent of Connor's body. It isn't an unpleasant scent but it's uncomfortably intimate to her, as if he is lying in bed with her. She shudders with revulsion at the thought.  Lack of rest and the sedative properties of the drink creep further over her despite her anxiety and she falls asleep.

Connor returns to the cabin in the early afternoon and as soon as he opens the door he sees Catherine's shift spread out in front of the fire. Looking at his bed, he is relieved to see her in it and no longer on the hard floor. He leans a walking stick for her against the wall and returns to the porch, shutting the door quietly. Outside, he cleans and skins the two rabbits he caught, hanging their carcasses from the ceiling to freeze and rolling the skins for cleaning later. Back inside, he removes his gear, jacket and boots to wash himself. Catherine's shift is dry so when he finishes washing he picks it up to bring it to her. It is nothing more than a pile of flimsy, torn rags in his hands. Nevertheless, it's hers so he places it on the chair sitting against the wall between the bed and the storage door. After only a moment of consideration on her situation, he goes into the storage area and digs in a cedar chest of neatly stored clothing and items that belonged to the previous owner of the cabin. Near the bottom beneath a heavy jacket and a few books is a soft, long sleeved cloth shirt, a belt and some pants. Connor refolds the clothing, brings the items to the chair and sets them down on top of her ragged shift.

Catherine is lying on her stomach breathing deeply and at some point had pushed the blankets partly off of her upper back. Her bare arm is hanging from the left side of the bed and her fingers are slightly curled in the restful way of deep sleep. The upper half of her back is partially exposed and Connor carefully lifts a small section of curls out of the way with one hand to get a better look at her injuries. The sides of her back are mostly clean now but the middle is stained with crusted blood and grime.  The edges of the biggest gash are red and raw, which make him worried about infection. Catherine takes a slightly deeper breath and Connor quickly withdraws to the other side of the cabin. He leans against the fireplace, dividing his attention between the low flames and his bed containing such a distressingly abused woman. That slash bothers him greatly so he gathers the remaining herbs from Catherine's bathing and sets some fresh water to warm by the fire. From the table, he watches Catherine sleep for a while and hopes he can convince her to let him near her again.

Connor takes the walking stick, approaches the bed and leans it against the wall beside the chair. He sits on the floor with his back against the chair, bends his knees up, rests his elbows on them and looks at Catherine's sleeping face. Other than when she was unconscious the previous night, it's the first time he hasn't seen worry and fear on her face. The swelling on her jaw and lip have gone down slightly but the shadowy coloration of her bruise has deepened. Her bottom lip remains puffy where it split, though it appears to be cleanly scabbed over. Connor extends the fingers of his left hand towards her dangling arm and lightly strokes the fine blonde hairs that cover it once. Her skin is soft and warm and she stirs under his touch, curling her fingers and flexing her wrist back. She takes a deep breath and on her exhalation makes a sleepy moan. Connor wonders if he gave her any of the bruises on her arms during their struggles the night before. He hopes not. For a second time, he strokes her arm and Catherine opens her eyes. They widen as she takes in the sight of him so close to her and his hand hovering over her wrist. She inhales and withdraws her arm from his reach, pulling the blankets up close to her chin. Her face is no longer peaceful and her beautiful, sea colored eyes are steeped in fear.

Connor's face is only an arm's length from hers and Catherine's body tenses under the blankets. She grips the handle of the hatchet under the pillow but she knows her weak and damaged body wouldn't react fast enough if he pounced on her. Acutely aware of her nakedness against the sheets, she grows nauseous at the thought of him tearing the blankets off, pinning her down and having his way with her. _I knew I couldn't trust him! I knew it!_ Panic starts to set in and she is unable to slow her breathing.

Connor helplessly watches as she becomes more and more agitated before his eyes. He leans away from her, resting his weight on his right arm and shaking his head.

"Catherine, it is alright. I am not going to hurt you!." Catherine is gasping instead of breathing and her entire body is trembling. The tears that leak from her eyes saturate the pillow and Connor worries that he won't be able to calm her. Her lips are parted and her hand clenches at the blanket from inside. Facing the palm of his hand toward her, Connor makes a lowering motion and keeps his voice soft and soothing as he continues talking to her.  "I have no desire to mistreat you the way you are thinking. I am not that kind of man. Please, Catherine… please calm yourself. I only want to help you." Catherine brings her clenched hand toward her face and almost looks like she is biting her knuckles through the blanket. Her breathing is rapid and broken by short, high pitched moans when she swallows.  Connor keeps his voice soft and calm, though Catherine's reaction only appears to worsen. "Your back is badly injured and I am afraid it is infected. I want to clean and treat the cuts, nothing more. Please let me help you… I am not a monster like those men who harmed you." Connor stops talking and deliberately looks into Catherine's eyes. He slides himself further back and sits against the far wall facing her with his left knee bent. He turns his left hand up in a subtle pleading gesture and then rests his wrist on his bent knee.

Catherine slowly manages to control her breathing. She hears his words through the ringing in her ears but only once he stops talking and moves away do they seep into her mind and start to make any sense. His withdrawn posture seems to reinforce what he says. No longer looming so close, he isn't making any movement toward her at all. His last statement clangs repeatedly in her head. _I am not a monster like those men_. A tortured expression fills his eyes and his face. _Not a monster_ … Catherine forces herself to really look at Connor.

He's looking down and slightly to his right; his brow is furrowed and a distressed expression clouds his features. Catherine senses a true horror in him that she has categorized him the same way as the men he had taken her from.  Memories from the previous night start replaying in her head differently. His actions no longer seem as hostile as she had interpreted them. Even when he had held her down he had done nothing further than keep her from attacking him. She had been the aggressor, not him. Another thought creeps into her mind that calms her further. _Perhaps I've misjudged him simply for being a man_. The realization pinches her conscience and a feeling of guilt washes over her. She takes a breath and slowly releases it. The quiet between them stretches on for an age and Connor closes his eyes and rubs his creased forehead with his right hand, his chest rising and falling in a deep and silent sigh. He bends his right knee and lets it fall to the side, the sole of his right foot almost touching the side of his left on the floor.

"They _were_ monsters. They raped me." Catherine hoarsely blurts out. Connor moves his eyes to look at her, lowering his right forearm to rest on the inside of his right thigh and turning his fingers toward the floor. There is a profound look of compassion on his face, merged with anguish and a spark of fury.

"I know," Connor says quietly, his expression changing over fully to pained compassion as he lowers his head slightly while keeping his eyes fixed on her face. He rolls a fold of his pants on the side of his knee between two fingers of his left hand. Catherine takes a deep breath.

"The first time was the very night they captured me." Her voice falters and becomes a whisper. "I tried to fight back but they were too strong!" Catherine shifts her gaze and seems to be staring at the table several feet to Connor's right yet her unblinking eyes are blank and unfocused. Connor puts his left elbow against his raised knee and rests his head against his palm with the tips of his fingers hidden in his hair. He doesn't speak for fear that she will stop now that she's finally talking to him but he's sickened by her words and the story he knows is to follow. She regains her voice, though it's flat and emotionless at first.  "Each night while we traveled, it was the same… For two weeks, maybe more. I can't remember... When we got to the cabin they took me over and over... whenever they pleased like I was some… toy to them. Their leader was always threatening me with that whip of his… He'd lash me once or twice for no reason just to make me fear him more." Her voice cracks and she stops with a sobbing breath, a tear leaking from her eye.

"Catherine, you do not have to tell me…" Connor begins.  Catherine interrupts him, turning her eyes back to him.

"But I do... Please. Please." Connor nods silently at her once, his face neutral of any expression, and waits for her to collect herself and press on. Her attention drifts to his feet and he has to force himself not to shift them or move his toes as she presses on in her story.

"Yesterday I heard them discussing how they would dispose of me. Or my body, rather. I was able to fray my bonds against a rough board and pull my hands free to untie my legs. I climbed out a window and took one of their horses but they chased me and shot the horse. I was thrown from the poor beast and they caught me." She shifts her arm under the blanket and Connor is reminded of the scratches on her palms and arms and the dead horse he found only a short distance from the camp. He thinks she is lucky to have not broken any of her bones or been killed in the fall.  "One of them choked me. I thought I was bound to die right there but he hit me and I woke up hanging from the ceiling back in that… that  _hateful_ place. The light haired one with the whip cut my foot with a knife and told me…. He said I'd never escape and he'd make sure I remembered it! Then he made me stand and started whipping me. God... I don't know how you found that terrible place they had been keeping me." Her voice cracks again but she feels as if a weight has come off of her with the telling of her story. Connor is still sitting with his back against the wall but he is no longer resting his head on his hand. It's tipped up against the wall and the muscles in his wide jaw tense over and over. His left arm rests on his bent knee and he squeezes his fist tightly. After heaving a large sigh, he relaxes hand and appears to be collecting his thoughts.

"I heard your screams, Catherine. That is how I found you.  Those men deserved to die for what they did to you. I thought you had already passed from this world and from the look of the place... and you, I considered it a mercy." He shakes his head and then lowers his face  from the rafters to look at her. His eyes burn with a golden fire and he leans forward only enough to convey his sincerity, gesturing with his hand.  "When I knew you were alive I had to find you. I know I hurt you when I held you down and I regret that, Catherine. But I could not leave you out in that storm to die." He trails off and Catherine is quiet for a time, thinking on his words.

"After everything that had happened to me, I thought anything would be better than being a prisoner again, maybe even death." She moves her hand out from the covers slightly and wipes a lingering tear from the bridge of her nose. Connor looks sharply at her.

"You are no prisoner of mine! If you asked that I take you to New York right now I would pack up and we would go today, even if I must carry you the entire way." His voice is serious but Catherine feels herself wanting to smile at his outlandish suggestion. She only shakes her head slightly.

"It would be a most uncomfortable journey for me.  I can't move without considerable discomfort. That drink helped but it just can't touch the deep pain." She hasn't moved at all from how he found her, even when she was terrified of him just a short time ago.

"May I see your wounds?  I would like to clean them." Connor asks, gesturing to her but staying against the wall. Catherine clenches her teeth but by force of will alone, she makes herself trust him despite the crippling amount of fear welling up into her soul again.

"If you wish."

Connor gets up slowly and silently, the way he would near a frightened, wild animal he doesn't want to spook, and retrieves what he needs to treat Catherine. He approaches the left side of the bed, sets the bowl and materials on the chair and kneels down. He rolls his sleeves up and reaches for the blankets but stops and turns his head toward her with a question in his eyes. She nods to him and he slowly pulls the blanket down a little, pausing to free the edges from between Catherine's stiffened fingers. Catherine inhales sharply as the woolly material separates from her recently reopened wounds. Connor watches her clench her hand near her chin with her arm tight to her side.

"I apologize. It is sticking to you." He whispers. His eyebrows move together and separate subtly as he cautiously uncovers her a little more and he sees her injuries. Connor gathers Catherine's soft, almost dry curls off her neck and back and moves the pile of dark hair to the pillow above her right shoulder. It tumbles down and he gathers it back up, twists it into a long loop and tucks it into the crevice between her shoulder and the pillow. Despite Catherine's revised opinion of Connor, the feeling of his masculine hands against her skin makes her shudder. Her eyes follow his movements as he reaches to her side to draw the blanket out from under her stomach. Her breathing is shaky with dread for what is to come and with continuing to give her trust to him.

Connor carefully moves the blankets back, revealing the side of her stomach and lower back along with a sliver of hip and leg. Her skin is incredibly smooth and nearly translucent it is so pale in the spaces between her injuries and Connor silently laments the damage to such delicate beauty. As he folds the blanket down to the small of her back goosebumps appear on her exposed skin and Catherine moves her legs nervously, shifting her hips. The large gash is uglier in its fully exposed and sunlit state, its angry red edges swollen and pulling against the portions that had not been torn by the whip. At least two dozen long welts cross her body from just below the tops of her shoulders all the way down to the small of her back and her skin is broken in many places where they overlap. Dark, crusted blood is mingled with the dirt and grime deeply embedded in her wounds. Her back is painted lengthwise with minute brush strokes of bright red blood where the blanket had reopened some of her wounds and then dragged along her skin. Connor clenches his jaw and represses his anger and sickening disgust. The force it would have taken to create the largest gash must have been extraordinary. He's certain she'll bear many scars for the rest of her life. Shaking his head as he stares at her ravaged back, he whispers an old Haudenosaunee adage in Kanien'keha. _The greatest strength is gentleness._ He switches to English and addresses Catherine.

"This will be painful, Catherine. I wish it were not so. Are you ready?" His voice is choked when he speaks but he no longer wishes to hide his anguish at her state. Catherine reaches her left arm up to grasp the pillow beneath her head.  The side of her breast becomes visible and the swell of it presses into the sheets as she pulls the pillow down and nods with her eyes closed. With horror, Connor finds himself sexually attracted to her, his eyes drawn to her nudity despite the nature of her terrible injuries. His uncalled for desire magnifies her vulnerability to him at this moment and deepens his admiration for the level of trust she has given him. He looks away from her breast with some effort and focuses on the daunting task before him. He wants desperately to take away her pain and protect her from future harm but to do so requires an agonizing first step.

Catherine opens her eyes and watches with trepidation as Connor dips a cloth into the bowl and wrings it partly out in his grip. Trickles of water run over his fingers and off his hand from where he holds it. He brings the cloth over her body and hesitates before touching it to her skin. In the very corner of her vision, Catherine can just make out his face. A deep furrow is between his eyebrows and his lips are parted. He closes his eyes and tips his head back for a moment, heaving a silent sigh. He looks back down at her back and moves his right hand as if to place it on her back but pulls back with uncertainty. His eyes rove over her injuries and his expression is an open book to his concern. He presses his lips together in a thin line and swallows, shaking his head. His hesitation is almost more disturbing than her naked exposure. It speaks volumes about what her injuries must look like and Catherine would rather not think about that. When at last he lightly touches the cloth to her and squeezes warm water onto her skin, Catherine turns her head into the pillow but she knows it doesn't muffle her moan of pain.  Instead, she holds her breath, grasping the pillow in her hand tightly and trying not to move her upper body.

Tendons stand out over the back of Catherine's hand and her knuckles whiten alarmingly. Connor forces himself to methodically work his way down her back, cleaning her deepest gash in small sections. Using his fingers to gently stabilize her inflamed skin, he cleans out the embedded dirt and crusted blood as gently as he can but her stiff body and muffled whimpers reveal her pain. Every time he gives her a break by working on the smaller cuts Catherine breathes in ragged gasps and her shoulders shake. Connor hates that he's the cause of her discomfort and watches with dismay as beads of sweat form on her neck in response to her suppressed agony. A pool of pink water collects in the hollow at the small of Catherine's back and then spills over her side and down under her hip when she shifts her legs restlessly. Connor takes a dry cloth and places it next to her so he can absorb the collected water and keep the bed from getting soaked.

"Do you want to take a break for a time?" Connor asks, after a particularly deep portion proves much more difficult to clean out than expected and causes her to scream pitifully into the pillow, unable to contain her reaction any longer.

"No! Keep going! I just want to be through with it!" Catherine gasps, her face still pressed into the pillow as her sobs rip themselves from her throat and fill the room around them. Connor stoically continues and gently dries her skin with a clean cloth when he is done. Catherine moves her face out of the pillow and breathes deeply, trying to relax as Connor places freshly steeped herbs on her raw skin. The warmth accentuates the throbbing in her skin and Catherine's pulse pounds in her head, bringing her dangerously close to passing out. Connor gently covers her back with a soft cloth and pulls the blankets up, holding the cloth in place with one hand on her lower back.

The skin on Catherine's neck is damp with sweat and her curls cling to her face and the side of her jaw. Her eyes are closed and unfallen tears pool in the hollow at the corner of her eye and nose.  Connor is unable to restrain his concern for her. He reaches over and smooths the curls back from her flushed cheek, letting his fingertips slide just under the top layers of her hair. Catherine breathes in deeply and closes her eyes tighter, clutching the pillow in her fist.  The glistening well of tears runs over the bridge of her nose and disappears into the saturated pillow.

"Stay like this for a while. It needs to be on you as long as possible." Catherine nods her head and only when he withdraws his hand from her hair does she exhale. The cabin feels too small to contain the emotions that threaten to break through the tenuous barrier he has put up to keep them at bay. Connor moves quickly to the door to put on his jacket and boots, grabs his gear in a jumbled pile and stumbles outside to escape the memory of her screams that still fill his head. He shuts the door and leans against it, breathing the cold air deeply. The intensity of what he had had to do is overwhelming him with anger and an unreasonable need to cradle her damaged body to his, as if he could take away her pain by doing so. It's a foolish, confused fantasy that would only result in disaster.

Connor walks away from the cabin and begins to jog through the woods, unsure of where he is going, yet knowing he needs to clear his thoughts. He runs up the angled trunk of a tree that has fallen against the side of a huge oak and leaps from branch to branch across a narrow tributary to the wide stream bed that runs through the forest. Unable to slow his anxious mind, he exerts himself until the aching from the scar in his abdomen reaches almost intolerable levels. The pain is blinding and he misses the next landing, his foot slipping on a snowy branch and causing him to plummet several feet before he can control his descent. He succeeds only in catching a lower limb for long enough to swing his legs downward before falling the rest of the way to the ground. Connor rests on one knee to catch his breath and a drop of blood falls from his hand onto the snow in front of him. The palm of his hand is raked with scratches from his desperate grab. Shaking his head at his foolishness, he scoops up a fistful of snow in his injured hand and holds it tightly. All he can think about is Catherine and her strange plight. Images of the gruesome state he found her in conflict with his somewhat unwanted and rather distracting attraction to her. She fills his mind and he wishes he knew more about her and how she came to be in such a dire situation. For now, he attempts to contain his wrath for the appalling wounds she bears and the disgusting injustice that was done to her. His only consolation is that he ended the lives of her tormentors and she will survive their brutal treatment of her. Connor looks around and realizes with surprise that he isn't far from where he first heard Catherine's screams. The coincidence is unnerving.

He heads in the direction of the cabin and soon the smell of soot fills the air. The snort of a horse and men's voices alarm him and he slips behind a large tree. In an effort to find a better vantage point, Connor scales the trunk and moves closer, high among the network of branches until he has a good view while still remaining concealed. The burned ruin of the cabin and the scorched and blackened trees surrounding it are below him, creating an enormous circular scar on the forest. Farther in the distance is the boulder where he first interacted with Catherine, the streak of her dark blood still marking the stone. There are two men searching the remains with sticks, churning up plumes of smoking ash with their boots. Another two are on their horses watching. The frozen body of the first man he killed lies next to the horses, most of the limbs and abdomen gone from wolves feasting on the corpse. From where he is perched, Connor can just hear the men's conversation.

"I found a second burned body over here. It looks like a man too. Yes. Here's a dagger."

"Dammit, where is she? We aren't going to get paid if we can't prove she's dead. I knew they'd waste too much time out here."

"There is no way the little bitch managed to kill even one of them.  She had help. This one's neck was slit almost to his spine. She isn't that strong. That one looks like he had an axe in his skull."

"Maybe the place was sacked by Indians. We are in the middle of nowhere out here. They could have taken her for themselves."

"The Don is going to be furious about this." One of the mounted men gestures impatiently at the two men on foot.

"Just take the weapons as proof so we can leave. I want to get back to the Don and tell him what we found as soon as we can. If she was taken by savages, she'll be dead soon enough if she isn't already. What a waste of time, coming all the way out to this God forsaken place… and for what? A couple of dead men? I was never fond of this lot anyway. Never did more than what they had to but always had time for whoring and drinking."

Connor is tempted to shoot them with his bow but they're all carrying firearms and he isn't sure with his bloody hand if he could kill them all before getting shot himself. He waits until the men take what they want and ride off before moving from his hiding spot in the trees. On his way back to the cabin, Connor is deep in thought. A deer jumps across his path and he doesn't even take it down despite the scarcity of game. He wonders who Catherine is that someone wants her dead badly enough to have multiple people under pay to do it? The man called the Don is curious as well, and Connor ponders what his connection is to the woman under his care. He makes his way back slowly to the cabin but it's well past dark before he reaches it.

Catherine is too restless to stay still for long. After only an hour or so, she can't bear lying still anymore. She had tried to close her eyes and sleep again but her heart was racing far too much for that. She raises herself to her hands and knees, only to find that her back is just as tender as before, if not more so. The leaves are almost dry under the cloth on her back so she leans to the side and pulls everything off. Most of the herbs fall from her in clumps and she gathers them up and puts them in the cloth. Catherine sits on the side of the bed and picks up the lighter colored piece of clothing Connor had given her, letting it fall open in her lap. The fabric smells mildly sweet with cedar and is laced with the odor of time and dust. It's a man's long sleeved shirt with lacing at the neck and wrists. Despite being an old style, it's well made and of fine quality fabric. When she puts it on over her head the sleeves dangle beyond her hands and the shoulder seams end midway down her upper arms. She pushes the sleeves up and ties the wrist laces just above her elbows. The shirt falls to just above her knees when she stands. Catherine dons the dark brown pants next. They're very loose on her and even when she ties the waist as tightly as she can, they sit low on her hips. A good amount of each pant leg extends beyond her toes so she rolls them up. The belt helps hold the loose fabric of the shirt closer to her body though it, too sits low on her hips.

The walking stick leaning against the wall is a comfortable height so Catherine tries an experimental step. Despite being painful, she's surprised to find that she can bear slightly more weight on her injured foot than just this morning. It still isn't much and everything hurts tremendously but she forces herself to walk around the circumference of the small cabin twice before resting. When she returns to the bed she's uncomfortable but feeling better about her mobility. She takes her ruined shift and balls it up as small as she can. Again she contemplates throwing it in the fire but changes her mind and folds it up, drops it on the floor and nudges it under the bed with her foot.

The door to the back storage area is cracked open and Catherine gets up to look inside, spotting the latch hidden between two logs. In the fading light of day, she explores the area. It's a large and spacious cave with a rugged, rocky appearance and bears wooden flooring and shelves built along its stony walls. There are stacked hides and cooking supplies, sacks of potatoes and grains, various ingredients, hanging bunches of herbs and greens, pots and pans and a few dishes. In the shadowy back, a chest sits with its lid raised open. The chest and the items it contains smell like her new clothes. Catherine wonders whose they were, since she isn't sure they would fit Connor and they definitely aren't hide Indian clothing like he wears.

Catherine makes several slow trips from the fireplace to the storage area and back, collecting a few spices she recognizes and various ingredients from the shelves to make stew and carrying only what she can hold in one hand. The last thing she gets is one of the hares from the porch. There is still some water in the pot near the fire so she uses it to scrub the hatchet blade thoroughly and rinse it well. After taking a long, much needed break to let some of her pain ease in her back and foot, she transfers water from the bucket of ice Connor left earlier to the pot on the fire to boil. The hatchet works well to butcher the rabbit and Catherine adds the meat and bones to the pot along with some potato chunks, dried green onions, a turnip, herbs, spices and some grains. A final, much slower trip to the storage area with the lantern reveals a half empty bottle of brandy and she brings that over and adds some to the stew. She's exhausted by her work and both her foot and back are throbbing in near debilitating pain. Catherine is content to just sit in front of the fire and stir the pot occasionally, for even slight movements send bursts of pain lancing through her body. A bit of brandy for herself warms her stomach and relaxes some of her aching muscles. If she closes her eyes and ignores the pain, she can almost pretend she's back home, working on her needlecrafts by the fire.

Catherine watches the stars outside the window for hours and wonders, not for the first time, where Connor is.  She knows he is capable of the climb to the cabin since he did it late at night, during a snowstorm and while carrying her but nevertheless, she feels a twinge of worry about being alone. The sound of stamping feet on the porch some time later makes her jump and she clutches the spoon in her hands tightly when Connor opens the door and comes inside. He looks at Catherine sitting with her knees bent and her feet to the side on the bear skin and the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.

"You look like a stowaway woman on a pirate ship dressed like that." His voice bears the hint of amusement.  Catherine glances down at her oversized clothes and rolled up cuffs.

"I suppose I do." she mumbles.  Connor gestures to the pot, turning his attention to its contents with interest.

"How did you manage to do all of this? You were supposed to rest."

"I was careful. I took a lot of breaks." Catherine speaks with her face pointed solidly at the floor but her words come out quickly.   Connor huffs at her defensive brush off, pulls his hood back and starts to remove all his gear. Catherine notices the cuts on his hand but doesn't ask him about it. She is irritated with herself for not being able to speak kindly to him. While he was gone it was easy to imagine conversing with him but his proximity and towering height has intimidated her. The way he looks with his back to her as he removes his leather belt makes her feel shaky and ill. She remembers how easily he caught her wrist when she swung the hatchet at him and held her down, the dark shadow of his body looming over her where she lay. The hatchet is sitting on the hearth just out of reach; only the wooden spoon or the bottle of brandy is near enough to use as a weapon and Catherine tries to remind herself that he has been kind to her, that he admitted regret for having to restrain her and was obviously deeply disturbed by her injuries. It helps tame her insecurities slightly.

Connor walks to the back of the cabin and into the storage area, returning with two bowls and spoons. When he reaches the fireplace again, he pauses to looks at Catherine where she sits. Her hair is a cascade of careless waves and curls that reach almost to the floor. The clothes he gave her cover her injuries well and he's significantly less disturbed by the sight of her now that she no longer feels the need to clutch a blanket desperately around her body to hide her nakedness. Her face is still marred by the bruising and split lip but when her head is turned the right way he can't see the discoloration and her true beauty comes to the fore. She tips her head back to look up at him and the very ends of her hair touch the bear hide where she sits. He can't help feeling protective of her, especially after what he witnessed at the burned cabin. Catherine moves carefully to the very edge of the hide, making room for Connor to sit beside her. He is surprised by her inviting gesture, even if she moves rather furtively, so he is mindful to sit with a gap between them so she won't regret her decision. He places the bowls between them.

"What you have made smells good. It reminds me of a… different time in my life, a different place." Catherine hesitates before responding. He is obviously making an effort for her sake. Connor picks up a bowl, cradling it in his left hand. His fingers are long and his hands are calloused and strong looking. Catherine forces herself to look up at Connor's face and finds him regarding her. He glances at the large spoon in her hands and raises one eyebrow with another subtle smile. She stops clutching it in her fists and stiffly hands it to him. He fills the bowl generously with her hearty stew and extends it across the space between them like a peace offering.  Catherine takes it and tries to smile.  While Connor serves himself, Catherine decides she needs to say something and stop being so rude.

"Who are you?" she asks softly, looking at her bowl again as soon as Connor turns his attention on her.  

"I am called Ratonhnhake:ton. I am from a small Kanien'keha:ka village south east of here."  As Connor finishes speaking, Catherine steals a glance at him.

"You go by Connor, though. Why?" her voice is slightly louder when she asks.  Connor smiles wistfully at her question.

"To many, yes.  When I was about fourteen summers, I was compelled to leave my village and came to be under the tutelage of an old man named Achilles Davenport, whose homestead is on the coast north of Boston. For the sake of integrating me better into the community, he renamed me Connor, after his own son who died at a very young age. For many years I trained with him. He taught me how to defend myself and educated me in the ways of the colonists, warfare, and the value of real freedom.  The name has stayed with me."

"Warfare. Did you fight in the war?" Catherine doesn't look away as quickly.  He nods at her question, as if she is a casual friend rather than a terrified woman fighting her fear.

"I took part for my own reasons. I thought I was fighting for a cause but in the end I felt that my efforts had been futile and for the gain of others, rather than my own." He waves dismissively with his hand holding the spoon and shrugs his shoulders with a crooked expression of indifference on his face.  "But that is the past." His voice is soft and he stares into the fire as if remembering some sour fragment he would rather not think of.

"Why did you have to leave your village?" Connor's eyes seem to darken at her question and he looks into his bowl. Catherine fears she has gone too far. His lips harden for a moment but he turns his gaze upon her.  Catherine trembles.  "Please, I... I'm sorry."  Her voice quavers but Connor shakes his head.

"Do not be sorry.  It is a valid question.  When I was very young, before I left my village, I encountered a man who threatened me and who I thought later ordered my village to be attacked and burned. My mother died in that attack. I tried to save her but I was just a boy and I was too weak. I vowed that I would find that man again and he would pay for what he did to my people and my mother. I wanted to prevent anything like that from happening again." Catherine finds it difficult to picture the oversized man sitting beside her as a weak little boy.

"Did that man… Achilles help you do that?"

"Yes and no. He was a skilled fighter; well, he had been in his younger years, and a former leader of a group of people who fought for freedom. He taught me many things but I had to learn many truths about life myself. The old man and I did not always get along, but in many ways he was the father I never had. Maybe I was the son to him that he had lost all those years ago. It would explain why he never gave up on me. He died a few years ago and I buried him in his family plot in Davenport." They're quiet for a time while eating their dinner by the fire. Catherine looks over at Connor and watches his hands as he separates a piece of meat from the bone and scoops it up in his spoon. The bowl and utensil are dwarfed by them; they seem better suited to holding weapons. Veins stand out under his skin and several faded scars cross it, changing slightly as his fingers grip the spoon. Despite their capable and rough appearance he handles the delicate items with graceful dexterity.

"How did you come to be here? Boston is so far away."

"After the war, I found it difficult to live on the homestead. I had grown to love the people there as my extended family yet I felt out of place, the only Kanien'keha:ka among a community of colonists. I could no longer live alone in the old man's house, which he had left to me upon his passing, so I returned to my village only to find that everyone had left. My efforts during the war to protect them had failed. The land had been taken from them, sold, and my people had been forced to move west. I struck out to find them and when I did, I discovered that I no longer felt like one of them either. They welcomed me back, but I had lost many of the friends I once had. Since then, I have spent a large portion of my time here. There is something about this place that allows me to rest and be who I am." Catherine finds herself relaxing beside Connor as he tells his story. His voice is pleasant and hearing him admit his faults and tell his history, as sad as it is, makes her grateful to be under his protection. Knowing he fought in the war and tried to defend his people settles more of Catherine's fears. She feels terrible for judging him so harshly and for her earlier thoughts of fending him off with the wooden spoon or the brandy bottle. 

"And what of the man you vowed to find for the destruction of your village?"  

"He died for what he did, though his death did not bring me the closure I had been looking for. He was not who I thought he was, though he was still an evil man. Things had gotten… complicated by then, and I found myself questioning the very values I had depended on to sustain my motivation." Catherine watches his face cloud over again and she tries to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"What happened to your father? Did he die before you knew him?"

"No. I met him later in my life. For a time, we thought that we could join our purposes, to use our combined skills to bring about a change in society that would make life better for everyone. While our ultimate goal was similar, our beliefs on how that goal should be realized were very different. My father was the leader of the faction that opposed everything Achilles and I stood for and he died for his beliefs. There was nothing either of us could do to convince the other to change."

"I'm sorry, Connor. I too have lost both of my parents. It isn't easy to live with."

"I miss only my mother and the old man Achilles. My father used me and betrayed me. He protected the man I sought to bring to justice."

"Why would he protect the man who brought about the death of your mother? Didn't he love her, at least before you were born?"

"Maybe… yes. He did not know at the time what had happened to us when I was young. But even when I told him, my father was too deeply involved in his treacherous life to give up the man I sought, his second in command."

"How awful!"

"It is the past." Connor is far away in his thoughts. His story is a sad one, and it's obvious he has lived with much emotional torment because of it. Catherine pours some brandy into the cup and offers it to him. He places his empty bowl aside and takes it from her. As he raises the cup to his lips and sips, he lifts his eyes to Catherine. They're dark with his ruminations, the outer edges of his irises tinged a smoky orange by the firelight reflecting in them. A profound grief in his soul lurks there, raw, naked and so powerful it seems capable of crossing the space between their physical forms. Suddenly self conscious at such an intimate exchange, Catherine lowers her face and stares into the bowl of stew she holds in her right hand. With the fingers of her left, she touches the scratches running up the inside of her forearm. Connor's voice is soft when he next speaks.  "You said your parents had both died. What happened to them?"

Catherine manages to raise her eyes to his and is relieved to find a less intense gaze looking back at her. Though his eyes are still lit up the same by the firelight, they're buffered from his inner expression and it's easier to look upon them.

"My mother passed away shortly after I was born. I never knew her, but my father always told me stories about her. He raised me with enough love for two parents. I would even say he spoiled me. He died recently from the consumption." Connor lowers the mug to the hearth with his left hand, looking at it as he places it on the smooth stone.

"He sounds like he was a good man. What was his occupation?"

"He was the owner of a large textile manufacturing company that had gotten its beginnings on the outskirts of London from almost nothing. He was quite prosperous. I think Father loved making sure I always had the finest clothing to wear in the latest fashions. When I was eleven, we travelled here to America so he could expand his business in New York. He was doing well for many years despite the war and had secured a lady's maid for me as a companion when I was fifteen and then an engagement when I was twenty two." Catherine shakes her head.  "He loved me so much he wouldn't let anyone court me. At least that's what he told me. I was practically a spinster by then." Catherine sighs ruefully at the floor and misses the quizzical look Connor has on his face at her description of herself as a spinster.

"Any good father would be selective about who his daughter marries."

"I suppose. The person he finally let into my life was a man named Francisco Martinez, the son of a ship building manufactory owner, Sergio Martinez, out of Spain." Connor has to use every ounce of his self control not to react to her mentioning her Spanish affiliations. Catherine wasn't looking at him at the moment she said it and he is able to compose himself. His suspicious are immediately aroused and he wonders if her husband could be behind what happened to her. He forces himself to remain calm in order to pay close attention to any information Catherine shares about the man.  "My father knew Francisco's father through a business connection. I believe it had something to do with making sails. We corresponded for almost three years but because of the ocean separating us we didn't get to meet until all that time had passed. By then, Father had the consumption and he was dying. Francisco and I had mutual attraction to each other when we met in person and Father made me promise that I marry so that my inheritance wouldn't become the possession of the local officials or a source of squabbling among his contemporaries. He wanted me to benefit from it. I begged Francisco to put off the wedding for several months in the hopes that Father would get well enough to be there. When it became clear that he wouldn't, we wed at Sergio's insistence. Father died that afternoon but he died knowing that I would be taken care of." Connor cringes in his head at her turn of phrase.

"Your people have strange traditions. Arranging marriages, calling a woman 'old' at twenty two and not allowing unmarried women to inherit all seem… odd." Connor rests his elbows on his knees, couches his right hand inside his left and settles his chin on them.

"Perhaps it would seem so to some but it's normal for us. I was more upset about losing my father than my inheritance. I was marrying into a wealthy family and I knew I'd want for nothing but inheritance also plays a social role, especially for women. Father wouldn't have ever wanted my marital value to be lessened after his death."  Catherine shakes her head as she finishes speaking. Connor raises his head from his hands with a perplexed expression on his face.

"Lessened?"

"People would question why my husband married a pauper." Connor's eyebrows move together and deepen the small vertical line that resides between them.

"I cannot comprehend that the value of a woman is based solely on potential monetary gains for her husband." He shakes his head and changes the subject.  "How long ago did your father pass away? You said it was recent." Catherine doesn't answer right away. Her eyes shine in the firelight.

"What's the date today?"

"It is the 9th of February. Wednesday." Catherine closes her eyes and sighs. Connor reaches for the mug of brandy and takes a sip from it to cover his growing alarm at Catherine's distress.

"Father died almost six weeks ago. My wedding was on the 2nd of January."

Connor almost chokes. She was married under some duress, her father died on her wedding day and she was abducted only a short time later by paid criminals reporting to some Spanish Don…. Seeing how sad Catherine has become due to the telling of her tale, Connor refrains from bringing up the men he saw and what he overheard. His suspicions are trying to claw their way out of his head but he doesn't feel that now is the time to start asking meddling questions about enemies, her new husband or her father in law. He keeps his voice devoid of anything but compassion.

"I am very sorry, Catherine. Your father sounded like an honorable man who loved you dearly."

"Thank you. He was and he did. I miss him greatly; he was everything to me but I'm glad he'll never know what befell his Little Cat."

"He called you a little cat?" Connor places the cup on the floor between them and Catherine takes it with a sad smile.

"Yes, short for Catherine. I loved that nickname." She raises the cup to her lips and sips, thinking about her dear father.

Connor excuses himself to get up and he goes to the supply room, returning with small earthen container, dried cloves and some herbs. He crushes the cloves and herbs together with the mortar and pestle and Catherine finds herself watching his hands once more as he works. She observes in silence as Connor pours the finely powdered mixture into the earthen pottery. It contains rendered grease and Connor uses the pestle to incorporate the powder into it well.

"Tomorrow I should put this on your foot and back. It will be strongest after it has been mixed for a while. It is a similar combination of herbs that were in your tea this morning, only in greater concentration plus cloves to numb the pain." He then sprinkles some of the herbs into the brandy on the bottom of Catherine's cup and adds some hot water.  "Drink." The brandy helps to mask some of the bitterness but the concoction is still difficult to get down.

Connor puts things away, covers the pot of stew and brings it outside to the porch for freezing overnight. Catherine feels awkward at the thought of sleeping in Connor's bed in his presence but he mitigates any question of sleeping arrangements by taking the blanket Catherine had slept in the night before over to the fireplace and arranging himself a bed using the bear hide and the bedroll he takes when he travels. Catherine makes her way over to Connor's bed, moving slowly and cautiously to avoid exacerbating the pain in her body. She sits down and removes her belt before carefully lying down on her side. The effects of the tea are made stronger by the alcohol she had consumed earlier and her eyes feel heavy quickly.

Sleepily, she observes from the shadows while Connor takes off his shirt and bathes his upper body by the fire. A reverse of the tattoo she saw in the morning adorns his other side, creating an interesting visual symmetry. His muscles are accentuated by the moisture on his skin as he washes himself and a variety of scars are visible on his arms and shoulders in the flickering light. In a strange juxtaposition, Catherine finds herself attracted to his powerful physique while her original dread bubbles to the surface at the fearsome, unstoppable strength a man of his build must possess, and it attempts to take control of her perceptions completely. She forcibly tempers her insistent fear with the many ways he has shown her that he isn't at all like the men who took her away from her home and nearly destroyed her completely.


	3. Day Three

Day 3

Catherine wakes in the morning and moves her head only enough to look over towards the fireplace. Connor is lying on his back in front of the hearth, his head towards the door, with his right hand resting on his stomach on top of the blanket. His left arm is raised up with his elbow resting over his eyes, the fingers of his hand curled slightly. Holding her breath, Catherine pushes herself up from her right side and does her best not to groan as her back spasms and her skin aches from her movements. _Can it be that my pain is worse or am I simply tired of such daily agony?_ she muses bitterly. As she reaches to take her belt from the chair her hand falls on the hatchet handle.  Her stomach tightens and she steals another glance in the direction of Connor's quiet shape by the fire, holding her breath in automatic fear. Forcing it down, she slowly takes the walking stick and shambles to the door, doing her best to keep the stick from making noise and waking the giant sleeping man she needs to pass to reach the door. Once at the entrance, she stops to unroll her pant legs and shake them out so they fall down over her feet. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals that Connor still appears to be asleep and Catherine silently lifts the latch and lets herself outside. The pants do fairly well keeping her feet protected from the snow as she traverses the distance to and from the outhouse, but the air is frigid and she is happy to be back inside. When she looks back from easing the door shut, Connor rolls onto his side and watches her.  Catherine tenses and looks at the floor, feeling ashamed and embarrassed that she disturbed him.

"I'm sorry... I... didn't mean to wake you." She crosses her left arm over her chest self-consciously.

"I was already awake when you got up." He sits up and gestures at the long, snowy pants covering her feet.  "We need to make you some boots," he adds with a sigh that turns into a yawn as he rubs the back of his neck.  He watches from the corners of his eyes as Catherine eases herself to the floor and gingerly reaches to her ankles to brush the powdery snow from her pants before rerolling them to a manageable length.  Every move she makes is slow and controlled to minimize discomfort. Connor wishes he had thought of the salve before he left yesterday. It would have made a difference even overnight. Once Catherine pulls herself up from the floor, Connor gets up and goes outside without comment and without dressing for the cold, and Catherine listens to the creaking of the porch under his weight as he walks to the small stack he keeps on the far end of it.  Through the other window above the stack, Catherine can see him piling split logs on his bare right arm, and she looks away when he turns to bring it inside, lest he see her watching.

While Connor is carrying in the wood, Catherine gets a better look at the scar on his abdomen. It is worse than she thought it was. The edges are raised and puckered slightly and many stitches had once extended beyond the central rounded area in front, curving partway back onto his side. His movements do not give any indication that his injury currently affects him. The tattoos appear to have been done after his injury, the lowest line of the inking on his right side partially crossing the upper portion of his scar. The lines of the tattoo draw her eyes along his sides and up his body. His sturdy waist broadens into his chest, back and wide shoulders, layers of powerful muscles shifting under his coppery skin as he stacks the logs. Catherine is overwhelmed by how colossal he is, feeling as if she is seeing him for the first time and she further dwindles to a small and frightened mouse in his presence. No one could stop a man of his size and strength.

"I am going to get some ice for water. I will be right back." He puts his jacket on over his bare torso and pulls on his boots before leaving with the bucket by the fireplace. Once he is outside, he picks up a long handled axe and heads to the frozen rivulet on the cliff. A few well placed strikes with the axe break off enough ice to fill the large bucket, which he carries back to the porch. He opens the door and watches with some amusement as Catherine, sitting on his bedroll, attempts to rekindle the fire. Her hair is pulled over her right shoulder and she is grimacing as she stabs the smoking ashes beneath a pile of wood violently with the poker in frustration.  

"Come on, fire!"  Catherine exclaims at the wood.  Connor smiles to himself.

"You do not have to do that; I will take care of it in a minute." He stoops to pick up the water pot to fill with ice.

"I don't need waiting on!" Catherine says sourly, scowling into the fireplace and refusing to meet his eyes.  She never had to start a fire once her father had acquired a servant to perform the tasks associated with a merchant's household.  Her lack of practice makes her feel stupid and useless.  She stirs the ashes around listlessly.  Connor raises his eyebrows at her as he drops chunks of ice into the cook pot. When he settles it beside the fireplace, he crouches down next to her and holds his hand out for the poker. Catherine looks at its callused palm and raises her eyes to his face with a stubborn set to her mouth before sighing and handing him the poker. Connor shifts a log with it and then leans close to blow on the embers while feeding chips of bark and dry grass to them.  He manages to get a small flame licking the wood bits in only a minute.  "Huh." Catherine mumbles tartly, miffed by his competency.

Connor turns his head toward her as he sits back and a tiny smile threatens to turn up the corners of his mouth. Catherine's arms are crossed over her chest and she looks so fierce he wonders if she is considering grabbing the poker and stabbing him with it for succeeding where she had failed. Connor gets up to hang his coat back up and kick his boots off next to the door before she sees his amusement. He picks up his shirt from where he left it the night before and pulls it on, rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. He adds a few small logs to the fire until it is is burning well and then adds a large chunk of wood.  He cautiously sits down next to Catherine where she is staring silently into the flames with her knees drawn up to her crossed arms.

"I would like to look at your foot again and put some of the salve on it. It should help the pain go away for a while."

Catherine shifts slowly to face him, unfolds herself somewhat by tucking her right leg under her left thigh and inches her injured foot toward him. Connor reaches for it and slides up the wet, refolded cuff of her pants to start unwrapping her foot. She winces as some of the fabric sticks to her wound. A dark area of dried blood has seeped through the cloth along the bottom of her foot, adhering the wrap to her injury. Connor leans back to pick up a bowl and scoop out some water from the pot. He positions it in front of his crossed legs and lowers her foot into the tepid water, bandage and all. Catherine hunches forward and rests her left hand in her lap, crossing her right arm across her breasts and gripping her upper arm in her hand. She looks down at her right cuffed pant leg and hooks a finger into it nervously while her foot soaks. When Connor lifts her foot out of the water by her ankle a few minutes later, the bandage slips off the rest of the way with a gentle tug. Catherine braces both of her hands on the fur behind her for balance as Connor lifts her ankle higher to gently wipe the sole of her foot with the wrap in one spot and then dry it. He cradles the back of her ankle in his right hand and it looks as if he could close his fingers completely around it if he wanted to. Long, sinewy muscles shift under the skin of his forearm as he adjusts his hand holding her foot up and contorts himself to look at her injury without lifting her leg much higher. A few more places need his attention before he appears satisfied with her foot. He pulls the softened salve from its place by the fire and dips two fingers into it, applying it generously to her slash in a soft downward dragging motion. Connor starts to gently massage the salve into her slash with his fingers and then transitions to using his thumb with his fingers wrapped around her foot so he can use more pressure. It hurts at first but in only a short time the pain relieving properties of the salve start to envelop her foot in a warm numbness. The potent scent of cloves permeates the air and her leg muscles relax. The only thing she can feel is the pressure of Connor's warm hands on her foot as he massages it.

"Better?" Connor asks as he continues to rub her foot.  He looks up from his work to get her reaction to his question, and at Catherine's nod, he silently rejoices that he is finally helping her feel better instead of inflicting pain on her every time he touches her. He knows she is not comfortable with his contact with her and now that he is aware of her status as a married woman, he feels terribly guilty about how much of her body he has seen, especially the first night when she was unconscious, and his own weakness as a man for feeling attraction to her. Her culture is not at all like his, where men and women see each other in varying states of undress, especially in summer. He is careful to treat her respectfully, yet she is still very much afraid of him.  Connor can't help but be impressed by her strong will to hide her fear, though he sees it in the way she carries herself; a turn of her shoulder, the twitch of a muscle in her neck as she looks anywhere but his eyes, her fingers always nervously touching her clothes, the way she curls herself into as small a shape as possible even when she sleeps. The intensity of her fear waxes and wanes but usually holds steady at a high level of guarded suspicion, as if she is expecting him to suddenly turn on her and harm her. She cannot help but spurn his trust, so Connor tries not to think about what those men had done to her to make her this way. No woman should fear a man the way Catherine does him. It makes him wish he could shrink himself down to a more average build and height, for he knows his large stature is not helping. 

Connor rewraps her foot only enough to keep anything from getting into her wound and places it down. Catherine tenses, knowing he will want to treat her back even though he hasn't asked her yet. Her hand strays to the neckline of her shirt and she stares hard at the floor, weighing what matters more. She will have to take her shirt off and allow him to touch her, yet her foot feels so much better that she yearns for the same relief to her back. Connor turns toward the fire and adds another piece of wood, hunching forward and saying nothing to sway her but she catches him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He is waiting for her to decide. Pressing her lips together, Catherine resolutely makes her decision.

She jerkily unties the lacing at her neck and shifts onto her hip, feeling nauseous and afraid again and hating herself for it. Her fear keeps overturning her logic and making her into a prisoner of this man again and again. The buckle on the belt fights her fingers and she fumbles at it until it finally comes undone and drops loudly onto the wood floor. As her nausea increases, she slides her legs under her body until she is kneeling facing away from Connor. She bows her head for a moment and then takes a breath and crosses her arms in front of herself, gathering up the sides of her shirt in her hands.

"Catherine, you do not have to do this if you do not want to." Connor's voice pierces into her chest and Catherine freezes in place, her head still bowed.

"If I don't do it now, I never will."  She is surprised at how little her voice shakes.  

"It is not my goal for you to feel compelled."  Connor's voice is soft and low, the words carefully selected for Catherine's sake.  Catherine shakes her head.

"I'm tired of being in pain, Connor, and I can't put that stuff on myself!"  Despite her best efforts, her voice breaks and tears well up in her eyes.  

"That is one way of looking at it. I want you to feel better as well but _not_ if it is going to cost you in any other way.  You have endured enough." Connor's voice drops even lower, punctuating how serious he is.  Catherine sighs and quickly dashes the wetness away.  She looks over her shoulder at him, feeling the edges of her wounds crack and pull on her skin painfully as she does.  Connor's face is surprisingly stoic for the powerful feelings of compassion he had just conveyed to her with those simple words.  

"I appreciate your concern for me. But I really do want to be able to move without pain for at least a little while. I'll have to move on at some point and it may as well be now." Connor admires her resolve and doesn't argue with her further despite feeling as if her words are meant more to convince herself rather than reflect her true thoughts.  He extends his hand slightly toward her.

"Whenever you are ready, then." With some effort, Catherine grasps her shirt and pulls it up over head, keeping it on her arms and bending her body over them protectively. The pose makes her appear impossibly small to Connor, and the straight, dotted line of her spine is disturbingly apparent from her malnourished state.  Connor moves closer and sits behind her. Since his treatment the previous afternoon, some of the redness between the weals has gone down but because of that, each one now stands out in vivid clarity. The smaller gashes at the intersections of the lashes have scabbed over and appear to lay fairly flat. More than likely they will still leave scars but at least they will be small. The large gash continues to plague Connor's worries. While the other welts have gone down with their swelling somewhat, this one remains raised, the edges separated, jagged and raw. The redness surrounding these open portions is wide and angry. He decides to start with the largest gash where the deepest injuries are.

At Connor's first touch Catherine arches her back and winces.  Breathing deeply, she rounds her back once more and presses her face into the crumpled shirt in her hands. He coats her stripes with the salve, only touching her enough to leave the salve behind on her injuries. Once he reaches the bottom of her back, he returns to the top and gently massages the salve in with one hand. He notices as it takes effect when her shoulders relax and her head drops lower as her breathing becomes smoother and deeper. When he stops and gets up, Catherine puts her shirt over her head and pulls it down over her back. Even these movements are easier for her. Connor rubs his numb thumb and fingers over each other, unable to feel their contact, and gazes down at where Catherine has curled forward over her bent knees, her head nestled in her hands and her elbows on the floor in front of her knees. Her fingertips are just visible through her hair as they bend and relax against her head. He isn't aware of the silent tears of relief that slide down her cheeks and drip onto the fur as he walks to the storage area.

Connor searches through his collection of hides and finds two fairly well matched furs from some large summer hares. The fur is thick and soft, the downy undercoat a deep tawny color accented by longer, black tipped hairs. He then selects the thicker hide of a bear, several long laces and some tools and brings them all out to the main cabin. Catherine is lying on her left side curled around his pillow, more relaxed than he has seen her while awake. Most of her hair is tossed back behind her body and her eyes are closed. She opens them as he approaches and looks up at him.

"I'm sorry I was so irritated earlier. I was… projecting intention." Her eyes are a dark, tumultuous grey-blue from within the shadow created by the pillow.  Connor sits down in front of her and rests the hides and tools on his lap.  He folds his hands on top of everything.

"You do not need to apologize. You have no reason to trust me until you are ready."  Connor keeps his eyes steadily on Catherine's.  She squints a little as she returns his gaze.

"But you aren't like… them. I know this. In here," she touches the side of her head with her index finger. And then she places her open hand over her heart.  "In here… it fights me." She shakes her head ruefully.

"Give it time. Your heart may never fully heal but you will learn to control its power over your life." At his words, Catherine moves her hand off her chest and pulls the pillow closer to her body for a moment. She sighs and closes her eyes. The bruised side of her face is against the pillow and aside from the pink rope burns on her wrist and the bruises on her forearm, she looks unharmed and perfect. Connor is close enough to reach out and touch her hand or her face if he dares but doing so would shatter the moment. Instead, he lifts the folded hides off his lap and sets them to his side. The tools jangle together and Catherine opens her eyes.

"I have things to make boots. I will show you how my people make winter clothing." He lays out the hides on the floor and Catherine sits up with interest.

"I love sewing! My father found me a good teacher when I was a child. I used to make my own clothes all the time."  Catherine's voice is full of unexpected joy and it makes Connor look up at her from laying the tools beside the hides.  

"Why did you stop?" he asks.

"My husband thought it was very common of me to not have my clothes made by a professional and so I stopped during our courtship." She runs her hand across the rabbit fur and pauses to slide the soft hairs between her fingertips. Connor thinks her husband seems overly concerned about money and appearances instead of the happiness of his wife. The thought makes him clench his teeth so he redirects his energy to teaching Catherine. Connor shows her how the boots are a fairly simple design that wraps and laces over her foot and lower leg. The soft fur on the inside works as insulation and an extra piece of the durable bear hide on the foot portion helps increase the wearing power of the sole. He demonstrates with the awl and teaches her how to string the ties through the holes quickly. Catherine loops her hair into a loose braid that falls over her shoulder, picks up the tools and starts working right away.  She is focused and quiet and only asks for his guidance once.  Within a short time she creates a pair of fully laced boots but then she takes them apart partially and alters them to have a folded down top that shows off the fur more and a flap on the side that can be opened and closed quickly with buttons for ease of wearing. On the huge remaining portion of bear hide, she uses some ash to draft a pattern for a jacket. Fascinated, Connor watches as she crawls around the floor working the hide and tools deftly with her small hands, amused by her zeal and creativity. Her mind is focused on the project and the serious expression of concentration on her face, punctuated by occasional scowls as she figures out a tricky part, make him smile.

"I am happy that you are using these furs. I do not make myself clothes very often. I bring many of my hides back to the village with me when I return and the women of my tribe make the clothes I wear." His comment is a momentary distraction to Catherine, for she only glances up at him once before returning to her work.

"What about your jacket? It isn't made of hide." Her astute observation fits right in with her strong interest in sewing.  Connor glances at where his light grey jacket is hanging by the door.

"I had that made in Boston. I wanted something more versatile and I had grown used to the style of clothing I wore during the war. I tried to add some details later to reflect my heritage."

"The beaded armbands?" Catherine asks without looking up from cutting a strangely shaped piece out of the bear hide that looks nothing like a jacket to Connor. He nods and speaks aloud for her benefit.

"That is correct."  He decides to gather his weapons and lay them out on the floor so he can clean and hone the blades.  The last item he collects is the hatchet next to the bed.  As he works, he tries to incite Catherine to converse.  "Tell me more about your husband's work. I used to sail frequently as the captain of a ship called _Aquila_ , so the ship building trade interests me." Connor asks the question as disarmingly as possible.  Catherine presses her lips together for a moment and looks at Connor. _He used to sail? Captain? What kind of Indian is the captain of a sailing ship?_ She has difficulty picturing him at the wheel of a vessel.  Additionally, the name _Aquila_ sounds vaguely familiar but she can't place why.  Brushing the thought aside, she continues her work, talking as she does.

"My husband doesn't follow the trade as much as his father. Francisco prefers to work with the family finances directly. Sergio is the one who handles the business contracts and who orders the workers about. In some ways, I'm grateful Francisco seems to not be interested in that side of the business. Sergio runs his business and the people working for him with a firm hand. I've often overheard complaints from his employees that he is pitiless and exacting, always greedily looking for ways to get the most money out of the least investment, and that includes being stingy with wages. I wouldn't want Francisco to be spoken of like that."

"He is a cruel man, this Sergio?"  Connor wants to learn as much as he can about Catherine's relations yet he has to fight to control his inquiries so he doesn't alarm her.

"I suppose you could describe him that way. 'Hard' might be a better descriptor. He's never directly been cruel to me. I just feel like he's… disapproving. I think when Francisco asks me to change things about myself it's more of an attempt to make me acceptable to his father than anything else." Catherine is quiet and stops cutting the hide for several minutes while she thinks. Connor turns his attention back to his work, hoping she will continue. She doesn't disappoint.  "Sometimes I wonder if they're just unhappy here. They came to this country for me at my father's request. Sergio complains that he can never make as much of a profit here as he could in Spain. He's continually looking for new ways to rise up in the ranks of the wealthiest society members. Francisco is always lamenting the weather being too cold, that New York is dirty and 'full of peasants and savage, heathen Indians'." She shakes her head after quoting her husband and then resumes cutting the hide.  "If he knew I were with a man of your... heritage.. he'd be rather displeased.  I'm sorry." She raises her face towards where Connor is bent over his work. He is smirking when he looks up at her.

"You do not offend me. I have heard far worse descriptions of my people than that. You can tell your husband I am only half savage heathen. My father was from England. His surname was Kenway." He pauses and motions toward her with sharpening stone in his hand. "What about you; do you like it in this land?"

Catherine's face brightens.

"Yes, very much so! I miss London sometimes but I always preferred our home in the country. Here it's almost all country. The wild open spaces are so vast and when I'd ride out beyond the borders of New York… I felt so incredibly liberated." Catherine's eyes shine with her passionate description of the land but her enthusiasm soon darkens and she frowns down at her hands. Her fingertips are red from accidental jabs from the awl.  "I suppose it was foolish of me to make a habit of doing so alone. When I was captured, I had given Anika the day off. My lady's maid. She wished to visit her family's graves and I only had a few small things to purchase and then my afternoon was free for riding. I wonder... had I not been alone would I not have been taken? Poor Anika; she's probably sick with worry. She is more like a friend and sister to me than a maid. She's only two years younger than me and I love her so!"

"Hmm.  What happened to her family?"  Connor queries.

"Small pox. If she hadn't been living with my father and me, she may have died too. She lost her whole family within a week; parents, older brother and younger sister… It was awful! We tried to send help but the whole district was infected and no one could get in. It was something to do with contaminated blankets being distributed to the rebel colonist army. Her brother was home visiting them from the barracks when he was sick and then they all got it.  Everyone who came home from his regiment was sick!"  She sighs and looks out the window at the snowy view.  Connor's voice draws her eyes away from the desolate cold and towards his golden gaze.

"There were many sick and dying from that. We helped who we could and tried to burn the supplies of blankets, but too many got through.  I am very sorry that despicable act affected your friend and her family... and you."  Catherine wonders if Connor had diminished the role he played in the war. He does not expand on the subject so she decides not to ask him. Connor examines the string to his bow for a time before looking back up at Catherine.  "Why do you not carry a weapon with you when you ride out?"  Connor's inquiry is innocent enough but Catherine becomes flustered, as if it is a ridiculous question.

"I have no skill with weapons! The one time I did try to defend myself was against you and that didn't work out the way I'd hoped at the time. Honestly, if I had managed to hit you, I wouldn't have known what do next!" Her voice is high and she grips the bear hide in her hands tightly.  Connor feels like he is losing her openness so he puts his tools down.  

"Catherine."  He waits for Catherine to look up at him from the hide edge she had been poking with the awl but is now clenched in her fists.  "When you are able to get around without the walking stick, I will teach you how to use any weapons you would like. You should know how to defend yourself." Immediately, Catherine's hands relax and she sits up straight to stare at the array of weapons laid out in front of Connor, considering his offer.  Her eyes roam over their varied types and then rest on the bow laying unstrung next to Connor's right hip.

"I'd like to learn the bow. I've never even seen one before I met you but... it seems... safer." She looks up at Connor and he is startled by the sudden change in her demeanor. A spark of something is in her eyes and he wonders what has awoken inside her.

"Very well.  I will teach you the way of the bow when you have healed enough."

By the time the light is fading, Catherine has created a warm grey bear hide jacket that falls to her hips, fits her well and has turned out hems on the sleeves, bottom and edge of the hood, exposing black, shaggy fur. The thick fur on the inside of the jacket makes it exceptionally warm. The roomy hood can be pulled up past her face to block the wind. At Catherine's request for buttons, Connor retrieves some large wolf teeth from storage, carefully makes holes through them and files the pointy ends so she can use them as button closures. The pearly teeth are striking against the grey and black, especially when Catherine attaches them so they graduate neatly in size. Connor quietly watches her critique her work, pleased that she has found something enjoyable to do while she recovers from her injuries. He gets the pot of frozen stew from the porch and sets it to warm as Catherine trims each seam painstakingly so that the fur on the outside is short and neat, making even black lines. She definitely appreciates fine work.

Catherine is glad to be done with her jacket and is happy with the outcome. She's even happier that it's complete, for her back and foot have started to ache again and she has to move slowly. For the first time since Connor brought her to the cabin, she eats dinner at the table but they converse little, for Catherine is withdrawn.  She sits sideways in her chair to keep her back from touching the wood and can think of little else than what it could mean if she learns to use weapons. _Francisco would_   _never approve!_   Yet Catherine feels strongly about wanting to learn anyway. An unexpected thought crosses her mind. _What if Francisco decides I'm not worthy of him any longer?_ _Now that I've been used by multiple men…_ _And what would Sergio think of me!_ The thought makes her afraid and she pushes it away. _Perhaps they needn't know.  I can simply tell them I escaped and got injured in my flight_. Her heart races and her lungs feel constricted, for she knows she could never convince either of them, especially Sergio.

Connor watches Catherine as she sits deep in thought. She has once again taken up the tense posture she had before he treated her back but he knows that can't be all that is bothering her. She ate a little but now has barely touched the rest of her food and she looks distracted and worried. Abruptly, she gets up with a mumbled apology and uses her walking stick to hobble as quickly as she can over to the door. She fumbles with the latch in her haste and goes onto the porch. Through the window, Connor sees her sit on the deck and lean her arms on the lowest railing, resting her chin on her stacked forearms.

The air is frigid and Catherine welcomes the discomfort. She is unable to shake the feeling that her life has been changed irreversibly for the worse. The full implications of her abduction and abuse claw their way into her head and work at destroying any future for her with her husband. _I'll be thrown out on the street!  I'm a dishonor to my husband and his family! If not banished, perhaps I'll be sequestered away from the public eye or... he'll take me back to Spain in shame!_  She presses both hands over her mouth and tries not to scream as her thoughts spiral downward towards despair.

Connor can just see her sitting on the porch in the darkness. She is hunched over and her shoulders are shaking. He is at a loss for what to do and has no idea what brought this on, the only indication of change he had seen at all had been her unexpected interest at wanting to learn weapons. Why that would make her cry is beyond him. Everything else she had been through, yes, but weapons training? When she continues to sit outside after she appears to have stopped weeping, he worries about her getting too cold. Making up his mind, he picks up Catherine's jacket and boots, grabs the blanket from near the fire and goes outside. She turns her head away from him when he comes out. The wind is blowing her hair around and icy particles hit his skin from the waterfall's frozen mist being tossed in the air.

"If you are not going to come inside, at least keep yourself warm. I brought you your things and a blanket." He places the items down on the porch and crouches down beside her. She says nothing and refuses to face him. "I hope I did not say or do anything to offend you. If I did, I am sorry." Connor's voice trails off as her head shakes slightly.

"It's not you. I just want to be alone for a while. I need to think." Catherine's words are muffled by her elbow but the raw, sorrowful edge to her voice is unmistakable.

"Very well.  But do not linger out here.  You will become ill." He gets only a nod in response.  Connor reenters the cabin and sits at the table where he can see Catherine. She turns and wipes her eyes before pulling her boots on and donning her jacket. With the blanket draped over her legs, she pulls the hood of her jacket up and hunches herself over again. Once Connor sees that she is adequately protected from the cold, he moves around the cabin restlessly organizing. He goes to the supply room and pulls out some soft and pliable scraped deer hides that Catherine could use to make herself some better clothing, since she is so good at it. He puts his hatchet on the chair by the bed and spreads out his sleeping roll in front of the fire. After a while he sits on the mat and puts some water on to boil. He makes tea and watches the fire. Over an hour goes by before he hears Catherine moving towards the door. She comes inside and sits in front of the fire next to Connor, the blanket bunched over her arm. Frozen mist melts into water droplets, decorating the fur framing her face and the hair spilling from her hood. When she pulls her hood back, her nose, cheeks and lips are pink from the cold and her eyes are red from weeping. She looks exhausted. Connor makes her some tea and she takes it from him. She holds the warm cup to her lips and stares into the fire in silence.

After a while she takes off her boots and jacket and bends her knees to put her feet on the floor. She starts untying the wrap on her foot and while she is picking at the knot, Connor reaches for the salve and pulls it near. When Catherine finishes untying the wrap and looks at him, he nods.  She turns her body toward him and he takes her foot in his hands and brings it onto his lap. Her eyes are less red but still tired when she looks up at him and he wishes he could undo everything she had gone through at the hands of her captors. Helping her physical wounds is a start.  Connor is pleased to see that her foot already looks less irritated and the edges of the slash are flat. As he massages the salve in, a fleeting but powerful wish that she were not married passes through his mind and he immediately brushes it off. No matter how much he suspects her husband of some kind of wrongdoing in connection with Catherine's abduction, he has no right to think of her that way. He wraps her foot again and considers the scene he witnessed the day before at the cabin. The combination of her Spanish husband and the mention of a Don is just too perfect to be coincidental. He looks down at his hands resting around her ankle and over the top of her foot without really seeing them.

"Connor." Catherine's voice brings him back to the present and he raises his head up. She is looking at his face with a combination of concern and interest. She flexes her foot back slightly and he lifts his hands off her abruptly.

"I did not mean to restrain you."

"You weren't. I could have moved away any time. I was wondering what you were thinking of just now."

"Nothing that cannot wait until another time.  Will you allow me to treat your back?" Connor's eyes are flat and unreadable.  Catherine hesitates just a moment before nodding. His face was so full of consternation that she briefly considers pressing him on the matter but changes her mind, turns her back to Connor, gathers her shirt up and holds it against the front of herself. He applies the salve to her back gently.

Connor is happy with what he sees. These wounds, too, are looking better. The softening effects of the salve have helped to reduce the irritation caused by the fabric of her shirt and the smaller marks look more pink than red and raw. The large one is still ugly but at least it isn't infected. He tugs at the back of her shirt when he has rubbed the salve into her skin and she lets it fall down over her body. It catches for a moment on her side and he takes the end of the shirt and pulls it down the rest of the way for her. Catherine turns back to face the fire, picks up her jacket and gets up with her walking stick.

"Thank you. I feel better now but I'm so very tired."

"It has been a busy day for you so soon after your injuries.  Get some rest." No longer indecipherable, Connor's eyes look deeply into hers and Catherine suddenly feels as if he has spoken more than mere conciliatory words to her.  She backs away a step before turning and limping to the bed. The rung on the back of the chair next to the bed holds her jacket neatly and Catherine is both relieved and ashamed for feeling so to see the hatchet resting in its place on the seat of the chair, freshly sharpened.  The walking stick is barely in its place before she is crawling under the covers and collapsing onto the pillow with a sigh. She falls asleep almost immediately. Connor suddenly feels exhausted himself and prepares for bed. He can't stop thinking about Catherine's powerful emotional reaction. Part of him wants to believe it is just her trying to deal with the trauma from her ordeal but a much stronger part believes it has something to do with his offer to train her or some other, deeper pain. It seems he is not the only one holding a disturbing secret.


	4. Day Four

Day 4

"I need to hunt larger game today. Our supply of meat is running low." Connor says to Catherine where she sits across from him at the table after eating breakfast. Catherine looks up from her mug of tea and watches as Connor turns his chair away from the table, tips it back against the wall and extends his legs out. He brings the back of his left hand over his lips and covers a yawn while raising his right fist over his head and stretching. With a deep exhalation, he slides his feet back toward the chair, bows his head and leans forward, dropping the front chair legs loudly onto the floor. He reaches his hands up to his head, pulls the red tie out of his half ponytail and runs his fingers through his thick hair. Long sections hang from between his fingers and he briefly rakes through the portion that hangs past his chin, detangling it with a sigh. Regathering the upper part of his hair back from his face, he loops it through the tie and tightens it into the hairstyle he always wears. Connor rests his elbows on his widely spaced knees, his hands hanging near each other but not quite touching. Turning his head, he observes Catherine, his eyes lingering on her right hand wrapped around her mug before moving up to her face.  Catherine draws the mug closer, as if to pull away from his eyes.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks him cautiously. During breakfast Catherine had deliberately sidestepped addressing the reason for the previous evening's emotional breakdown, despite every glance from Connor being loaded with questions. She knows she is unable to help him hunt but her guilty conscience is jabbing her for hiding her doubts about her future from him. She asks anyway, the fingers of her left hand idly toying with the ends of her hair in her lap. As she expects, Connor shakes his head. His beaded braid swings from the side of his face.

"I took out some deerskin for you if you want to make more clothes. You may take whatever you like of what I have back there if you need more." He nods towards the supply room, setting his braid swinging anew.

"Thank you. You're very kind to me." Catherine drops her eyes to her mug and she appears intent on studying its contents.

"I enjoyed watching you make your jacket yesterday. You are a skilled seamstress." A flicker of a smile crosses Catherine's lips at his compliment but transforms into a hard line before it can fully form.

Intending to ask about her back so he can treat it and leave to hunt as soon as possible, Connor rises to his feet and crosses the short distance along the table to stand beside Catherine. She leans back in her chair, tilting her head up at his. Her curved lips are slightly parted and she moves her right hand from her tea up to the neckline of her shirt. The cut on her mouth has healed to only a raised vertical imperfection on her bottom lip with some redness surrounding it. All of the swelling is gone on the side of her face but her bruising continues to change colors daily. At the moment, it is an irregular brown mark that extends from the left side of her mouth at an angle up towards her cheek bone and is surrounded by a large area of a rather sallow yellow. An unwelcome image of one of the men at the cabin punching her pretty face intrudes Connor's thoughts. It is a sickening thought and a wave of irritation washes over him as he wonders how he can possibly bring up what he heard at the cabin and the questions he wants to ask her. He crouches down next to her with his right hand on the corner of the table, takes a breath and considers raising them now but the words catch in his throat and he cannot do it.

Catherine wonders at the way Connor is looking at her face. His expression had changed abruptly while he was standing next to her, transitioning from matching his compliment of her sewing to an anxious concern. Now his eyes shift over her face quickly as if he is surveying each feature. A small crease deepens between his eyebrows and Catherine questions if her appearance is more disturbing than she had imagined it to be. She raises her left hand from her lap to cover her cheek and turns her face away from Connor as her eyes begin to sting in shame. He slides his hand towards her on the table but then stops.

"How is your back?" His voice is low and soft and Catherine turns her face towards him and hesitantly lowers her hand from her cheek.

"It's much improved, thank you. That isn't to say it doesn't hurt, but it's not nearly so bad as before." Connor nods at her answer, his demeanor once again changing before Catherine's eyes. His face smooths but his neutral calmness seems like a fabrication. Catherine slides her chair back and Connor rises to his feet and moves to the side as she stands. He reaches for her walking stick leaning against the wall and holds it upright, ready for her to take it from him. Facing him, she grasps the shirt covering her hips tightly and looks up at him.

"Is it so awful to look upon?" her voice trembles and then steadies.  Connor's brow furrows again and Catherine continues, forcing herself to maintain her eye contact with him. "What they did to me?" She releases her grasp on her shirt and presses the fingers of to her left hand to her cheek again.  She slides them over to her lip and touches the cut there, feeling the tender place.  Losing her steadfastness, she drops her gaze with a sharp inhale and stares at Connor's knees instead. Connor slowly raises his right hand to the one Catherine uses to cover her face and touches it lightly with his fingers. As soon as he touches it, Catherine moves her hand down from her face. Connor takes his hand away and Catherine drops her arm to her side where she takes hold of her shirt once more and fiddles with the hem.

"I do not enjoy seeing you like this, Catherine.  It angers me to see a woman who has been hurt in so many terrible ways.  But in only a short time those bruises and most of the other injuries will be gone. I worry more for your back and... your mind."  His words make Catherine look at his face.  His expression leaves no doubt as to the truth of his statement.

"Perhaps when I return home time will help me forget." She says softly.  Something in Connor's eyes darkens for a moment at her statement but Catherine can't be sure if it is doubt, pity or anger.

"Perhaps," is Connor's guarded response. Catherine takes the walking stick from him and makes her way over to the fireplace. When she sits down, she looks over her shoulder towards the table where Connor has not moved. His right arm is by his side and he reaches his left hand up toward his head.  He bends his head down and turns it toward the table, dragging his hand across the back of his neck and leaving pale marks on his skin from the pressure of his fingers. His posture is tense and a growing feeling of uncertainty and anxiety threatens to overwhelm Catherine. She is unable to read the man well and coupled with not knowing what will happen to her when she goes home, she feels adrift in the world.

Catherine starts to work on the hides almost immediately after Connor leaves to hunt. She is grateful for the hides to keep her hands and mind busy, as she is also grateful for the pain relief from Connor's salve.  Each time Connor treats her back, she feels best in the first few hours until the numbness starts to wear off. Taking advantage of that blissfully pain free window, she quickly sketches out her patterns on the soft hides. If she is to learn weapons she needs clothes that will allow her the most freedom of movement. Basing her design largely on the clothing Connor wears, she makes a long, fitted, short sleeved tunic that comes to the middle of her thighs, laces down the front and back and has open side seams from the waist down for ease of walking. She then alters the long sleeved fabric shirt she has been wearing so that it can be worn under the hide tunic. It is so oversized that she has to remove the sleeves and cut out large sections of fabric from the sides and bottom to shape the bodice. Finally, she narrows and shortens the sleeves so they conform to her arms without hanging over her hands or needing to be folded up. Once the sleeves are reattached, she puts on both items and assesses the fit. The fabric shirt now has a lot of lacing holding it together but it is very soft and comfortable and protects her sensitive skin from the stiffer hide of the tunic. She has never made pants for herself before so she proceeds slowly with the project. At her first fitting they are too big for her so she adjusts the seams until they follow the lines of her body while still allowing her to move freely. She is somewhat uncomfortable with how closely they hug her hips and legs when they are laced up but she again reminds herself that she is dressing for utility, not femininity.

Late in the afternoon, as Catherine is starting to clean up the mess she made with her scraps, she hears footsteps on the porch and a knock on the door. She looks up in a panic, knowing that Connor would never knock on his own door. The handle starts to move and with a start, she remembers that the hatchet is on the chair next to the bed. There is no time to reach for the walking stick. She limps as fast as she can toward the back of the cabin, choking back sobs of agony as the newly closed wound on her foot stretches and threatens to reopen under her weight. When her hand touches the hatchet handle, the door opens. Catherine wheels around as a strange Indian man enters, calling out in his native tongue. In a panic, Catherine takes in the sight of him and frantically weighs the danger he presents.  He looks to be in his middle twenties, strong, and has extremely long black hair that hangs down over his chest almost to his waist. He wears a long hide shirt that has swaths of intricate embroidery and beading running across it.  It is partly covered by a dark orange cape draped over his shoulders. The cape bears white patterned weaving along the bottom with a long fringe and is closed together in front with some kind of bone or shell clasp. His hide leg wraps reach almost to the middle of his thighs and are held on with several brightly colored bands covered in beading tied around each leg. A white necklace with rows of long, thin, stacked beads is tight around his neck and feathers dangle from various places on his clothing. He is armed with three simple but deadly looking weapons.  A bow and quiver crosses his back, a knife in a colorful sheath is attached to a strap crossing his chest and a stone and wood club dangles from his hip. He immediately sees Catherine by the bed and steps toward her.  His healthy youth, strength and aggression strike more fear into Catherine's already racing heart.

Catherine brandishes the hatchet in front of her body, tightening her grip to still her hand from shaking. The man gestures towards her and says something in his language to her as bracelets clatter on his wrist. Catherine holds the hatchet out in front of her, desperately trying to think of how to get him to leave.

"Stay away from me! My husband is going to be home any second and he'll kill you! Get out!" Her voice rises in pitch as she becomes more agitated. The man only throws his head back and laughs, bringing one hand over his chest in his mirth. He speaks in English and points towards her.

"That tomahawk belongs to Ratonhnhake:ton. You are not his wife because he is not a married man." With a sinking heart, Catherine knows the expression on her face betrays her lie. She clutches her chest with her left hand and the hatchet shakes in her right. The man takes another step into the cabin and looks around with curiosity. "Where is he?"

Catherine wonders the same thing, desperately wishing he would walk through the door and stop this nightmare from happening. She raises the hatchet out in front of her further and points it at him, afraid this is her last chance to try to save herself before he could grab her. Drawing herself up straighter, she forces herself to look at his dark eyes.

"I told you to leave." Her voice is low and trembling. The man steps backwards with an uncertain tilt to his head but doesn't cross the open threshold behind him.  Utter, desperate fear takes Catherine over. "Get out!" she screams.  Catherine winds her arm back and throws the hatchet. The man jumps out the door and slams it shut just before the hatchet blade makes contact with the wood of the door. The force of Catherine's throw buries it deep into the panels with a loud crack that makes the door vibrate in its frame. Breathing hard with her vision narrowing to a pinprick in front of her, Catherine barely holds herself together enough to stumble the few steps to the back of the cabin and grope for the latch to open the hidden door to the pantry.  She finds it and pries it out in a panic, partially tearing a fingernail backwards in her blind haste. The pain barely registers, for the entirety of her mind is aimed at finding safety. She falls to her hands and knees inside and drags the door shut behind her until the latch clicks. Weeping and trembling with terror, she crawls through the darkness to the back of the cave, feeling the floorboards beneath her hands. She turns in the blackness and feels for the rough wood of the shelving, following the edges of it as quickly as she can.  At the end of the shelving behind the cedar chest is a small nook and she wedges her body into it and tries to silence her gasping sobs, clutching at the neckline of her shirt with both hands and fighting not to pass out or vomit. If the man comes back inside and finds her, Catherine no longer has a weapon and would be defenseless against him. Dizzily, she pushes her torn fingernail against her sternum, using the spark of discomfort to swim back to the surface of consciousness.

***

Connor hears Catherine's scream as he starts up the gorge. He drops the deer he was carrying on his shoulders and sprints up the trail to the cabin, ripping his bow off his back and nocking an arrow as he runs. When he reaches the top, his friend from the village is backing away from the cabin. Connor slows his headlong run to a jog and then walks the remaining distance, lowering his bow.

"Brother, what brings you here?" He calls out in Kanien'keha, dropping the arrow back into his quiver. His friend turns and walks to him, looking over his shoulder at the cabin. His face carries a shocked and confused expression as he points toward the cabin door.

"Brother! You have a wild woman in there! She tried to kill me! I was only coming to see if you were here. Now I find a cornered wildcat in your camp saying you are her husband. What is going on?" Connor laughs in relief and slings his bow on his back.

"It is a long story, my friend. Let me just go and speak to her and then I will tell you about it. Wait here. You probably frightened her." His friend nods and Connor jogs to the door. When he pulls it open, he is alarmed by the sight of his tomahawk protruding from the wood, barring his entry, and Catherine's walking stick lying on the floor. Connor wrenches his weapon from the door and steps into the cabin. Scraps of deer hide and lacing are scattered on the floor by the fireplace, the tools are abandoned on the hearth and his broom is discarded next to a small heap of debris.

"Catherine!" he calls out.  In a single glance he sees that she is not there and goes directly to the back of the cabin. He bends down and looks under the bed before pulling the latch to the storage area. At first the area appears empty but he knows it is the only place she could be. Connor grabs the chair from next to the bed and uses it to prop the door all the way open, letting in the light from outside. He walks inside and spots her bare foot protruding from the shadows behind the shelving near the back of the cave. If there had not been so much sun shining in from the cabin he might have missed her.

"Catherine... you are safe." Connor says soothingly as he walks into the storage area.  He crouches down beside her and places the tomahawk on the floor. She sits with her legs bent up to her chest and her arms tucked between her thighs and body, her dusty hands clenching the neck of her shirt and her toes curled against the side of the chest. Her eyes are wide and shining when she lifts her face from her knees, filled with a heartbreaking mix of terror and relief. Connor can't stop himself from wanting to soothe her. He leans in closer and pushes the chest aside with one hand. Gently, he takes her elbows and slowly lifts them out to the sides as he pulls her towards him. Catherine gasps at the contact and fresh tears run down her cheeks. Trembling, she tries to draw away from him.  "Come out.  You are safe.  Come to me." He speaks just above a whisper. Catherine allows him to lean her upper body towards him, her hands loosening from her neckline one finger at a time. Abruptly, her heart feels crushed and her stomach lurches with desperate need. Her emotions are a tumultuous mix; fear of the intruder, anger at being so afraid and relief that Connor is back. His calm invitation to her, spoken with such soft concern as he gently tries to guide her closer, contrasts with her racing heart and dizzying indecision. His confident presence is reassuring and she suddenly wants comfort more than anything. Catherine grabs his arms and lunges into him with a strangled cry, knocking him back to a sitting position.

"He wouldn't leave!  He wouldn't leave!" She screams into his shoulder as she raises her arms up around his neck and clenches his jacket and hood in her fists, pressing her forehead against him, her entire body wracked with sobs. Her knees bend up and she uses the sides of her feet against the wood floor to push her twisted body closer. Connor is astonished by her sudden and seemingly desperate acquiescence to his request. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her against his chest as he settles himself into a more comfortable postion, bending his knees and placing his feet on either side of her. She must have been terrified to have a strange man burst in on her, alone and unprotected as she was. He wishes he had been present to prevent this from happening now when she finally seems to be relaxing around him. He is uncertain how to soothe her terrible weeping.

"I would never let anyone hurt you."

"But you weren't here, Connor… I needed you  _here_!" Her words come in broken gasps.  Connor hugs her tighter and sighs. Guilt for leaving her vulnerable cuts at his heart but he never thought anyone would show up at the cabin. At least his friend was no real threat even if to Catherine, he was.

"I am here now." He talks quietly into the top of her head and then rests his lips against her hair. The scent of her is warm and soft; feminine with prevailing overtones of clove from the salve on her skin. He holds her until she stops shaking and gasping for breath. While she calms down he takes in the new clothing she has made for herself. His hand rests on tiny x's of lacing that travel the length of her back and he rubs his thumb over one lightly, his arms rising and falling with her breathing. The clothing flatters her figure impressively, especially the way her pants hug the curves of her shapely hips and buttocks, more lines of minuscule x's running in stripes down the sides of her legs. Somewhat disgusted with himself for being so distracted by her body, he returns his attention to her distress. He smooths her hair back with his left hand, letting his fingers come to rest against her jaw and neck and slides his other to her side to ease her away from his chest so he can see her face. She refuses to release her grip on his shoulders and only lets her arms extend as he shifts her body back. Her eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot, making her irises appear startlingly turquoise in the sunlight coming in from the brightly lit cabin.

"I thought he was going to…" Catherine trails off and turns her head so she is not looking at him. Connor shakes his head and shifts his right hand up to her cheek so he is holding her head in both of his hands and gently turns her face back to him. She keeps her eyes to the side and Connor leans closer to move his face into her line of sight. He looks into her eyes, trying to project his sincerity to her.

"No, Catherine. No. He is not like that." Some of the tension leaves Catherine's body and her shoulders slump forward.

"Who is he?" she whispers.  Connor moves a hand from her cheek to her forearm on his chest.

"He is one of my friends from my village. I think you scared him half to death. He described you as a cornered wildcat."

"Is he still here?"

"Yes, I had him wait outside." Catherine finally relaxes her grip on him and sits back with a shaky sigh. Connor lets his hands fall away as she moves and an unexpected sense of loss comes over him. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes and Connor notices her torn fingernail and some blood seeping from it. Happy to have a reason to resume contact with her, he reaches for her dusty hand and takes it gently in his. A cursory examination of her finger reveals it to be a minor injury.

"I think I did it when I was trying to get back here. It's fine." Catherine's voice is hoarse.  Connor nods and again relinquishes contact with her.

"I am going to go out and speak with him. Are you alright now?"

"Yes, I believe so… I hope he doesn't think I'm insane." she raises her hand to her mouth, ashamed.  Connor laughs lightly and shakes his head.

"Do not worry about that. You will see."

Connor gets up and walks out, leaving the hatchet where he placed it. Catherine listens for the cabin door to open and close before trusting her legs to support her. She picks up the hatchet, stands shakily and limps out to the cabin. Connor and his friend are visible through one of the windows conversing but their voices are muffled by the cabin walls and she can't understand their language. Catherine lifts her jacket from the chair and puts it on. She moves the chair back to its place next to the bed and closes the door to the supply room, scratching off a drop of blood from the wood near the latch. Her belt is sitting on the bed where she left it and she loops it around her waist, sliding the handle of the hatchet underneath. Painfully limping, she crosses over to her boots and sits to pull them on. The walking stick is just within reach and she uses it to climb back to her feet. She quickly takes the broom and pushes the remaining mess of hide scraps into a pile to the side of the fireplace before picking up the small knife from the hearth and trimming off the hanging bit of fingernail. She wets a scrap of hide in the bucket of water by the fire and cleans her finger and hand off before moving to the door.

There is a deep vertical gouge almost at eye level in the wood where the hatchet had been and Catherine touches it with her fingers. She almost can't believe that she succeeded in driving the man out but now that she knows he is Connor's friend she is filled with mortal embarrassment. She hopes she can reconcile with him without too much trouble. Taking a moment to breathe and steady her nerves, Catherine reaches to the handle and lets herself outside.

The two men stop talking when Catherine steps onto the porch. Connor's friend feigns great fear and ducks behind him, speaking in English.

"She has the tomahawk! Do not let her kill me, Ratonhnhake:ton!" Connor laughs and drags his friend out from behind him.

"Catherine, this is my good friend, Sonehso:wa. He is from the Onondowaga tribe and likes to barge into camps and frighten women. Sonehso:wa, this is Catherine, the… wildcat from New York who attacks rude men with tomahawks." Catherine is grateful for Connor encouraging the conversation further into lightheartedness. The newcomer smiles kindly at her and steps forward with both of his hands slightly extended toward her.

"I am honored to meet you, Catherine. And I am very sorry to have upset you so much. I hope you can forgive me for my ignorance." He finishes with a broad smile that is extraordinarily disarming.  Catherine affects a curtsy despite not wearing a skirt.

"And I'm pleased to meet you. I apologize for throwing a hatchet at you and for lying about Connor… Ratonhnhake:ton, being my husband." She stumbles over Connor's native name and lowers her head in embarrassment, knowing she has mangled it and feeling a renewed rush of horror warm her face.

"That part made me more afraid than the tomahawk flying at my head," he replies, bringing his right hand toward his head and pretending to be hit by it. He nods towards Connor and grins sarcastically. Connor rolls his eyes with a sour expression on his face and receives a substantial whack on the back of his shoulder from his friend for it.

"Come and help me bring up the deer you made me drop, brother." The two men walk down the hill together. Connor looks back over his shoulder at Catherine and smiles at her as he walks but Catherine only relaxes once they are out of sight.  She returns to the chair on the porch to watch the waterfall. A bed roll and a bag that must belong to Sonehso:wa are leaning against the wall of the porch. It is clear that Connor and Sonehso:wa are close friends, and seeing their easy camaraderie makes Catherine miss Anika terribly. They used to laugh like children together when they had time alone, away from the disapproving eyes of her husband and father in law.

"So, where did you get her again?" Sonehso:wa reverts back to speaking Kanien'keha.

"I did not 'get' her, I helped her. She was being kept against her will east of here. I had to kill her captors and carry her here because she was so badly wounded. When she has recovered sufficiently from her injuries, I will help her return to New York."

"That is a shame, my friend. She is a spirited one and pretty, too. Maybe you could tame her wild ways and make her your wife in truth.  You would benefit from a woman in your bed." He elbows Connor in the ribs and laughs.

"She is likable and pretty but she is already a married woman. Her husband is in New York and she seems determined to return to him despite my suspicions. I overheard some men at the ruin of where she was trapped discussing a bounty for proof of her death. I am afraid that she was used badly by men other than her captors. I mean to get to the bottom of it and if I find out it was her husband, I will end him."

"You more than just like her if you would kill again for her."

"And you make too many assumptions, brother."

"When I find you living with an attractive white woman who wears the clothing of a man and throws tomahawks at visitors... She is much like another woman you once told me about.  It seems she is already a perfect match for you and I do not even know her.  Why should I not make assumptions?" Connor is silent while he thinks what his life would be like with Catherine permanently in it, ticking off reasons in his head why she is so appealing to him. She loves the land and speaks of being a capable rider. She is talented with making clothing and is interested in weapons. She is beautiful, despite her many grievous injuries. The thought makes him want to comfort her as he had earlier and he can almost feel her warm body against him again, the soft skin of her neck under his palm and her slender hands gripping his shoulders. He remembers the silkiness of her hair under his lips and her scent filling his head. Connor stops himself from dwelling on what his friend just said. It is out of the question and he would be wrong to try to sway Catherine for his own interests. If she were to choose not to return to her husband it would need to be her decision alone. Connor worries about presenting what he knows about the bounty to her. She is so emotionally fragile that he is afraid of upsetting her more with that disturbing information. He is at risk of destroying the last thing she has faith in and has relied upon to endure. Right now, he doesn't think she would handle that well.

"You are thinking about her."  Sonehso:wa  breaks into Connor's thoughts.

"Just forget it. Not everyone likes to take as many women to their beds as you do. And under no circumstances are you to tell her what I have told you. I have not had a chance to discuss my suspicions with her and it will only upset her more.  Now is not the time." They reach the discarded deer and each pick up a set of legs to carry it up the hill.

"So defensive, brother!" Sonehso:wa says laughingly.  Connor instantly changes the subject.

"How is everyone at the village?"  

"They are well. It is the slowest time of the year so no one is doing much. That is why I decided to come here. I was bored. You missed the midwinter ceremony."

"It is the hardest time for me to stay around the village. The ceremonies do not feel like part of me anymore. I do not do well in large groups of people when there is nothing to accomplish."

"And yet you come to this place for months and do nothing here?"

"I hunt. I find ways to keep myself occupied."

"Like rescuing wild women?"

"Agh!" Connor raises his free hand in the air in a gesture of frustration and his friend laughs loudly.

Catherine watches the two men coming up the hill and observes the visitor more closely than before. He is a tall man, just about Connor's height but with a less bulky physique. He looks like a strong, capable horseman instead of a warrior like Connor; his face is attractively featured and his skin is much darker than Connor's. His hair is fairly straight and he wears it partially pulled back like Connor but instead of a ponytail it is braided into a long, thick rope that hangs down behind him. He wears feathers tied into the braid at a few intervals and his ears are pierced. His clothes under the woven wrap are structured similarly to Connor's. The beaded accents covering portions of his clothing are artful and intricate, the patterns different than the beaded armbands that Connor wears.

The men carry Connor's kill up and place it on the snow just in front of the porch before the ground drops off. Catherine tucks her legs up on the chair and watches as they skin and butcher the deer efficiently. They speak in English at first but soon revert back to Kanien'keha when their conversation becomes more animated. They seem to be exchanging stories of past events together. Catherine doesn't mind that she cannot understand them. She is still ashamed of her violent reaction towards Sonehso:wa and is more comfortable just watching the two men interact with each other. Connor laughs easily with his friend, tiny crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. His smile transforms his face, and though his friend at first seems to be the more attractive of the two of them, Connor's smile makes him exceptionally more so to Catherine. He is so much more relaxed than he has been in these few days she has known him, the deep, sonorous quality of his laugh helping to break down more layers of the initial impression that has stubbornly clung to her perception of him. Much of his serious attitude is probably because of her and she reflects on the efforts he has taken to gain her trust, grateful that his friend is here so he can enjoy himself.

Sonehso:wa glances up at Catherine during a lull in his conversation with Connor.

"Do you like the food Ratonhnhake:ton cooks?" he calls out to her.

"So far, yes…" He scoffs at her and shakes his head.

"You are polite, not admitting that it is terrible. I will cook tonight and you will see how bad he is at it." Connor says something to him in Kanien'keha that is obviously an insult while pointing his bloody hunting knife at him and Sonehso:wa laughs and catches Catherine's eye again, raising his eyebrows and nodding with a knowing look. She can't help but smile at his efforts to entertain her.

"So the wildcat does smile! I knew the prospect of a decent meal would make her happy." Connor turns his head toward her and heat suffuses her face so she looks down at her hands in her lap. Sonehso:wa sets a few pieces of the butchered venison to the side. He asks a question in Kanien'keha and Connor wipes his bloody hands clean in the snow and goes inside. He glances at Catherine as he passes her and again when he comes back outside with a bowl. Sonehso:wa puts the meat in the bowl and cleans his hands before he gets up and approaches the cabin. He picks up his bag and bedroll and then turns to Catherine.

"If you want to see a master in action, come with me and I will show you how a real Haudenosaunee cooks." Catherine glances over at Connor and he nods to her so she gets up and accompanies Sonehso:wa inside. Once inside, Catherine considers sitting at the table but decides to join Sonehso:wa when he takes a seat in front of the fire after taking off his colorful wrap and leaning his weapons and belongings against the wall. He uses the poker to rearrange the fire to his liking. Catherine can just see Connor hanging up pieces of meat to freeze along the porch.

"Where does Ratonhnhake:ton keep his cooking supplies?" Catherine gestures to the back of the cabin.

"There is a hidden door in the back on that wall. If you look closely, you'll see a lever between two logs. Pull it out and the door will open." He stands and walks to the back and he exclaims when he finds the door lever. He spends a long time poking around in the back and Catherine returns her attention to watching Connor through the window. She places the hatchet on the floor beside her and removes her boots, belt and jacket, setting them next to the hearth out of the way. When Sonehso:wa returns, he is carrying a pan and a bowl piled with various herbs and utensils. He spreads his supplies around and starts grinding up herbs. He looks over at Catherine.

"Ratonhnhake:ton told me a little of how he found you. He will keep you safe until you can return home. I am very sorry for frightening you. I did not know that you had been harmed...  I did not see your bruise until you came outside."  Sonehsowa nods at her cheek.  Catherine forces herself not to touch it.

"It's alright. I just feel foolish for attacking you now that I know you're his friend and you would not have hurt me." Despite his clear kindness, Catherine can't look at him.  He laughs his hearty laugh and it's almost startling to Catherine.

"It would not be the first time a pretty girl has threatened me," He looks into the mortar and smells the herbs and then brings them towards Catherine so she can smell them as well. He sprinkles a little more of one kind into it and resumes his grinding. They are silent for a time while he coats the venison with the herbs. Catherine stares into the fire, thinking about what Sonehso:wa said about her being safe with Connor. The way he pulled her close when she was out of her mind with panic earlier runs through her mind. It was what she needed and he somehow knew. He held her in such an intimate pose, even having his hand on her neck, he could have kissed her if he had wanted to and she isn't sure she would have stopped him right away. She had never felt as safe and comforted as she had at that moment. Francisco never touched her like that. Even on their wedding night, he seemed frustrated with her for weeping over her father. He took her virginity from her that night but never gave her consolation while she grieved. Catherine hates herself for comparing Connor to her husband again. What kind of wife does that? She forces herself to stop thinking about what a shambles her life has become before the tears that are stinging her eyes spill over. She regains her composure and turns to Sonehso:wa again.

"Connor… Ratonhnhake:ton, said that you are from the On… Ono… a different tribe."

"Onondowaga."  Sonehso:wa says slowly, for her benefit. "My tribe lives many days' travel to the west of here. His people used to live even farther to the east of us until recently when they had to move west after the war. We are both Haudenosaunee, just different tribes. I moved to his tribe when my father married a Turtle clan woman of Ratonhnhake:ton's tribe, making us brothers or... cousins in a way. I could have stayed with my mother's Deer clan but I went with him for a change in my life. To my surprise I found the Kanien'keha:ka to be welcoming. Ratonhnhake:ton and I became friends. Well, we were not friendly at first, but once we settled our differences we found that our personalities were more alike than we thought."

"Why were you not friendly with each other? If you don't mind my asking, of course."

"I do not mind. When I first came to his village, I was suspicious of everyone. I felt that he was especially arrogant and rude for not being around the tribe for more than a day at a time, with months of absence in between. He dressed differently then, like a white man. I assumed that he dressed that way because of only being half Kanien'keha:ka and I thought it was disrespectful to our people. When he came back and started dressing like us again, I followed him when he left to hunt once. He knew I was tracking him because suddenly he turned from where he was in the trees and shot an arrow at me. It only grazed my shoulder and I shouted up to him my derision for his inability to shoot, my opinion of his heritage and sadly, of his mother's relationship with a white man. That was enough for him. I got the reaction I wanted. He jumped down and we fought though it did not turn out as I had expected. He disarmed me right away and knocked me down. He stood and watched me get back up, then effortlessly knocked me down again as soon as I tried to attack him. He did this repeatedly until I had two black eyes and was bleeding from my mouth and nose. I finally quit trying when I realized he was intentionally shaming me and had deliberately missed his shot earlier. He had a few choice words of his own for me before he walked away. I had not managed to hit him even once. After that, I adopted a grudging respect for him, more for his fighting abilities than anything else."

"Insults are not a good way to make friends. Or throwing hatchets at people." Sonehso:wa laughs his distinctive laugh at Catherine's embarrassment.

"You are right. But it turned out fine. I saw how much everyone actually liked him and that he contributed greatly to the village despite his many absences. When I approached him and apologized he was like a stone at first but later he accepted my apology and we spoke for a long time. Since then, we have gotten along like old friends. I suppose it helped that we were both feeling like loners among our own people." He lays the pan on top of the logs and adds some grease. When it is smoking, he drops the meat on the pan. The venison sizzles and an enticing aroma drifts over to Catherine. Sonehso:wa notices her breathe deeply.

"You like how it smells?"

"Yes. What herbs did you use?" Connor comes in and smells the air too. He removes his jacket and gear and washes his hands next to Sonehso:wa, marveling at how comfortable Catherine seems to be around him as he tells her about the herbs he uses for cooking and handing them to her to look at. The sun is gone outside and he wonders how much conversation he missed.

"How is it that you can come in here not even two hours ago, have a tomahawk thrown at your head and then make the woman dinner?"

"Maybe I am trying to impress her. She is too good for you, my brother."

"She is too married for either of us." He shakes his head, smiling, and catches Catherine's eye, making her look away.  A warm flush burns her cheeks. Their combined flattery embarrasses her but she knows it is only an effort to make her smile. She finds herself relaxing around them more and more, knowing that she really is safe in their presence. Sonehso:wa's candid story about his and Connor's friendship further reassures her that she has nothing to fear from either of these men. Although she had never had any men in her life whom she would consider friends, she feels almost as at ease in their company as she ever did with her female companions. Sonehso:wa's presence and easy laughter had become a catalyst of change for her.

Sonehso:wa distributes the venison between the three of them and they all enjoy the meal.

"Well, brother, I suppose I have to admit that you are a good cook." Connor says in a rather unctuous tone.  Sonehso:wa appears smug until Connor continues. "You have always been better at women's work than I." Connor's mouth twitches as he tries not to laugh. Sonehso:wa narrows his eyes at Connor and then turns to Catherine.

"Do you agree with Ratonhnhake:ton, WildCat?" Catherine shakes her head, her hand on her chest.

"Please don't make me choose sides!" Sonehso:wa smiles at her and turns back to Connor.

"A peace-making diplomat! If I am so good at women's work, then you need more practice, my friend. That means I get to watch you clean these dirty things." Sonehso:wa spreads his hands out toward their dishes. Connor scowls at his friend and then leans over to look at Catherine.

"I know when to admit defeat with grace, unlike our friend here. Did you know I once had to teach him a lesson in respect a few years ago? It was so pitiful." Sonehso:wa pushes Connor back with his arm and sputters.

"Pfft! Not that again!" Connor shrugs his shoulders at Sonehso:wa and gets up to collect the plates. Catherine hands him her plate.

"Do you want me to do them? I am the one woman here, after all."

"No. But I promise I will not break them." Connor throws a sinister glare at Sonehso:wa and he merely grins widely in response. Connor brings the dishes to the porch and while he is gone, Catherine cleans up the hide and lacing scraps she originally had hurriedly swept into a pile. Sonehso:wa leans back with his hands behind him and watches as Catherine throws the small scraps of hide bit by bit into the fire. She tries to picture the two men physically fighting with each other but finds it difficult when she watches them laughing and talking together, hitting each other with sarcasm instead of fists. When Connor reenters the cabin, Catherine is stifling a yawn and Sonehso:wa is poking at the fire and adding more wood.

"I thought wildcats were more active at night…" Sonehso:wa says when he sees her yawn again. Catherine shakes her head.

"Not this one." As she finishes, Connor sits next to Sonehso:wa, smiling.

"Let her be, she expended all her energy trying to kill you earlier."

"That is true." Sonehso:wa laughs. Catherine takes her boots, jacket and belt and hoists herself up with the walking stick. She walks over to the door, drops her boots and heads back towards the bed.

"Good night, gentlemen. I will go to bed now. I really am tired." The men nod to her and Connor jabs his friend in the ribs with his elbow when he opens his mouth to say something. He raises his eyebrows at Sonehso:wa. His friend replies in Kanien'keha.

"I was only going to tell her not to let you in the bed with her."

"I knew you were going to say something foolish. The woman was raped, and you were going to say that? What is wrong with you? I am trying to gain her trust not fling it into the fire!"

"She knows I joke. But maybe that would have been going too far," he grudgingly admits.

"Maybe? She sleeps with my tomahawk under her pillow." Connor snorts. Sonehso:wa eyes the weapon on the bear hide where Catherine had been sitting. Not tonight apparently. He decides to change the subject.

"You need to tell her your suspicions about her husband. The longer you keep it from her, the worse it will be when she finds out."

"I know, I know. I just do not want to destroy the one thing she has left for hope."

"What do you mean, 'the one thing?' She has you."

"What would you have me do? You think I can just carry her off to be my wife and we will live in the village forever? If her husband is as corrupt as I think he is, he will not rest until he has proof of her death. He had at least seven men that I personally counted under pay to eliminate her. The hired men thought she was taken by a local tribe. How long until he finds our village? Would you put everyone at risk for a woman?"

"It would depend on the woman. I know I have not had the best history of judging character but she seems different. She is not the typical weak white woman. She is fiery and aggressive, gutsy. She suits you. It is not every day you encounter a woman who will look you right in the eye and throw a tomahawk at your head. Did she try to kill you when she met you, too?"

"Actually, she did, though far less effectively than with you. She thought I was yet another man trying to rape her, just as she thought of you. And I admit I like her fire and determination, even when the odds are not for her. I offered to train her how to use my weapons yesterday and she accepted. She is more like us than most white women I know. But she is still very afraid. When I came inside to talk to her after your encounter with her, she was hiding in the storage area... hysterical with fear. She has lost everything she loves and I am afraid of what could happen if I take away her hope of returning to her husband, even if it is the last thing I would ever want for her. I am afraid that by telling her what I know it will crush her, and simply holding her while she cries will not be enough." Sonehso:wa narrows his eyes at Connor and he throws his hands up.  Connor sighs and admits defeat.  "Yes, I want her to be with me. I desire her. But I respect her as well, so I will not make requests of her heart that she cannot meet right now. It is too soon after her ordeal and I cannot be sure that she would even want me anyway. She is only just starting to trust me and I do not want to throw that away."

"Brother, she wants you, she just does not know it yet. Have you not seen the way she watches your every move, and not with fear or suspicion but with interest? She silently asked your permission to go inside with me earlier and trusted your response. And she let you hold her in your arms while she cried? You must be a blind man… Her actions are telling you what she cannot or will not say." Connor sweeps his hand back in Catherine's direction, trying not to raise his voice.

"I will not coerce this woman to do anything!  She has had enough of being forced for many lifetimes. She must come to her own conclusions." Connor turns to face the fire and rests his elbow on his knees and his face in his hands. He lets out a groan of frustration.

"I never implied that you should force yourself on her, brother. Calm down. I only want you to see that you could be the one to make her happy. Do not give up on that possibility by letting your feelings of duty or your desire to protect her from a painful truth get in the way. She needs to know all of what you know and then she can make a decision. Do not keep it from her." Sonehso:wa picks up Connor's tomahawk from where it is sitting on his other side and places it on the floor in front of Connor's crossed legs.  "She trusts you more than you realize."

Connor contemplates what his friend said. The argument to just tell her what he knows is a compelling one but the thought of striking down the one thing she seems to be holding on to for hope is merciless. He understands what it feels like to watch hope slipping through his fingers. Then again, hiding the possibility that her own husband wants her dead while letting her think he cares is just as cruel, if not worse. He stares at the tomahawk in front of him, watching the firelight reflecting on the surface of the scarred metal blade. He thinks about the number of times he himself brought the weapon to her, believing it would make her feel better when she had left it someplace out of reach. When she threw herself into his arms earlier, was that not a display of trust in him, maybe even affection? How much affection is really there and not just conjured up by his desire for her?

Catherine listens to the two men quietly conversing in their native tongue by the fire as she unlaces her hide shirt down at the neck and up at the sides to remove it. Once in bed, she props herself up enough to watch them without appearing to be. It is uncomfortable to be on her back but their interaction is getting intense. They sit side by side, Connor's form wider and taller than Sonehso:wa's though he too has broad shoulders. She understands only 'New York' but their inflections indicate a heated conversation. Connor looks and sounds irritated and at one point he swings his arm back and gestures towards her. Abruptly, Connor turns toward the fire and slumps his shoulders forward. He is clearly upset about the conversation and Sonehso:wa's face carries a look of concern and determination. He sounds like he is reasoning with Connor on something. She sees Sonehso:wa pick up Connor's hatchet and place it in front of his friend. When they are silent, Sonehso:wa looks over at her and she is so focused on them that she forgets to pretend to be sleeping. He meets her eyes for a long time and tilts his head at Connor. He slowly nods once before turning fully back to the fire again. His message is clear: she needs to talk to Connor about their conversation. Catherine rolls on her side and wonders what is so important that they would argue about her.


	5. Day Five

Day 5

Catherine wakes in the morning to find the cabin empty. She feels so tired and can't imagine why since she has gotten more restful sleep here in the past few days than in the three weeks during her captivity. Her body is healing quickly, thank the Lord, so maybe that is why she feels so worn down. She swings her legs over the side of the bed and tries to stand without the walking stick. After her dash yesterday without it she feels confident that she can walk unassisted at least for short distances if she is careful. She stands up and walks to the fireplace to put her boots on and feels fairly comfortable with her pain level. The hatchet is lying on the hearth. Sonehso:wa's bedroll is sitting under the porch window where Connor keeps his during the day so she knows he hasn't left their company yet. Outside, the sun is shining but when Catherine steps out she regrets not putting on her hide shirt and jacket to use the outhouse. Her fabric shirt does little to protect her from the bitter cold and she ends up rushing her steps more than she would have liked. By the time she reenters the cabin, she is limping again. She knows she will need time to heal completely but she can't help feeling frustrated with her limitations. She puts on her hide shirt and laces herself into it and decides to explore the grounds around the cabin. At the bed, she puts on her jacket and belt and takes her walking stick from its place against the wall. As she passes the hearth, she picks up the hatchet and loops it into her belt, remembering the quiet conversation the two men had had the night before. The meaningful look Sonehso:wa had given her is still fresh in her memory as well as, strangely, the way his long hair had looked hanging down his back when he had returned to facing the fire.

Back outside, she feels much warmer properly dressed. She walks over to the small frozen falls, following the path Connor had made in his trips to and from the cabin. From there she then pushes her own path over towards the outhouse and passes behind it, entering the thin outer reaches of the woods. A structure is in sight only a short ways away and she heads toward it. When she reaches it, she discovers that it is a small smoking shed with a stack of hickory logs piled just inside. Moving deeper into the woods, she finds the snow shallower and easier to walk through, especially under the pine boughs. The fresh air feels good and so does the exercise. For the first time since her capture she feels really free again. Winter birds flit in the upper branches of the trees and Catherine walks with her head tilted back trying to see them, just as a child would. The cliff wall the cabin is built against runs on for a while to her left and tapers down to a lower area that looks climbable in the near distance. Catherine's foot seems to be tolerating the walk well and she makes it her goal to reach where the rock ledge tapers low enough to sit on. She walks slowly, being careful not to overextend herself since she has to walk the whole way back. After almost thirty minutes, she makes it to her destination and sits with a sigh on the rock. She leans carefully back against the rock face and rests her head against the sunlit wall. Closing her eyes, she considers taking a nap.

Somewhere behind and above her, a rustle of branches disturbs her quietude. She stiffens and sits upright, afraid to even wonder what it is. A wild animal, maybe? She gets up and cautiously climbs up onto the place where she was sitting. She can just barely see over the rock and to her surprise, there is a dark chestnut colored, fully saddled horse caught by its reins in the branches of a shrubby copse of trees. From time to time, the horse shakes its head and tries to free itself but only manages to get more entangled.

Catherine carefully hitches herself up onto the next highest ledge, lifting her stick up after. After two more ledge climbs she succeeds in dragging herself on her belly onto the upper edge of the cliff, panting with exertion. The horse has seen her and is snorting and stamping his front hooves. She pushes her hood back and approaches the frightened animal, extending her hand to him slowly. The horse rears, squealing, and tosses his head before letting Catherine rest her hand on his nose. She leans close and breathes into his nostrils. He tosses his head again and then forcefully nuzzles her shoulder, pushing her backwards into the snow. She falls down hard, dropping her walking stick and letting out a surprised cry. Catherine recognizes the saddle now that she is close and her stomach clenches with nausea. It is one of the horses that belonged to her captors. She gets herself back up and pats the horse again. Drawing Connor's hatchet from her belt, she works at freeing the beast, occasionally returning to his head and patting his nose and cheeks whenever he starts to get agitated. Once she gets the horse free, she is even more exhausted. Tucking the hatchet back into her belt, she examines the horse from head to hoof. He has lost some hair on his body from the saddle being on him for so long. The saddle blanket had slipped partially out from under the saddle and the leather had irritated the animal's back. Catherine loosens the girth and pulls the blanket back in place before tightening the belt again. He snorts and sidesteps, tossing his head a few times before Catherine can calm him again. He eventually quiets and drapes his head down over her shoulder. She rests her head against his neck and scratches him along his mane.

"Sorry, horse, but I'm going to need you to wear this for just a little longer." Catherine pats his nose again before leading him to a rock. Balancing her stick as upright against the rock as she can, she mounts the horse from his right side to avoid pressing her injured foot in the stirrup. He sidesteps again when her weight is on his back and Catherine leans forward and caresses his neck, talking to him. Her feet dangle above the stirrups but Catherine doesn't need them. She guides him back toward the rock so she can take up her walking stick and then turns him to walk down the rest of the slope in order to head back to the cabin on the correct level. The walking stick balances comfortably across her legs, leaving her hands free to hold the reins and pat him. She speaks to him sweetly, caressing his neck and picking branches out of his mane.

Up ahead and just before she would turn to head back towards the cabin, she sees a man leaning against a tree watching her with his arms crossed. Her heart jumps and her stomach clenches with terror until she realizes it is Connor. How did he find her? She continues the rest of the way to him and he is smiling up at her when she stops the horse. His eyes sparkle under the shadow of his hood.

"That was really impressive, WildCat" he says to her.

"What was?"

"The way you handled freeing him. He was very skittish and you calmed him down in just a few seconds." He reaches up and pats the horse under his forelock, getting a forceful nuzzle on his chest in return that makes him step back to steady himself. Connor says something to the horse indignantly in Kanien'keha but continues to pat him.

"I told you I love to ride. I adore horses. Sometimes I wonder if they can understand what I say to them."

"Probably. Some people just have a way with animals." Catherine's cheeks are pink from the cold and her exertions to free the horse. Her eyes are bright and Connor sees the passion she feels about riding showing in her face. She is covered in a fine dusting of snow from her climb up the ledge and from being pushed down into the drifts by the horse. Her hair shifts in the wind and she tosses it back from her face. She looks seriously at Connor.

"Connor, I'm sure that this horse belonged to one of my captors. They treated their horses badly and I want to get him back to the cabin and take all this tack off of him. It's hurting him. If my foot didn't bother me so much I would not have even gotten on to ride but I think I walked too far today." Connor nods his head in agreement.

"It is one of theirs. They had two tied up outside when I found the place and I untied them to keep anyone from leaving to get backup. They ran off when the place burned down; I would have taken them otherwise. It would have been an easier trip for you if we had had them." Catherine rests the reins on the horse's neck and lets Connor lead the horse through the woods towards the cabin with his right hand on the bridle. She watches Connor as he walks, really seeing the way he carries himself for the first time. His stride is confident and smooth; he walks with his shoulders back and his head high. His arm is bent up at the elbow and his fingers are twined in the leather loops of the bridle loosely. His other arm swings by his side.

"How did you know I was going to be where I was? I didn't even know I was heading that way." Catherine asks.  Connor looks over his shoulder at her and pulls his hood back to see her better.

"I did not know. Sonehso:wa and I were tracking the horses. We found one and I continued on to track the other when I saw you climbing up the wall to approach this one. I considered coming over but I was so fascinated by how you handled him, I did not want to interrupt your magic. You walked a good distance from the cabin. I am surprised you made it so far. Your foot must be feeling better."

"It was, but now it hurts again. And I'm really tired. I wanted to challenge myself and I think I overdid it." Connor continues to lead Catherine and the horse back through the woods, cutting across her earlier winding path through the snow. When they near the cabin, Catherine sees the other horse standing next to the building and Sonehso:wa rubbing him down with a handful of crumpled dry grass. He calls out to them in Kanien'keha and Connor replies while Catherine waves. Sonehso:wa switches to English.

"You found him!"

"WildCat found him. She did all the work of freeing him. He was caught in some bushes." Connor guides the horse up next to the cabin walls and then comes to Catherine's side, reaches up to take her walking stick and leans it against the cabin. She swings her leg over to the side and Connor raises his arms to her. Catherine leans down and rests her hands on Connor's shoulders, allowing herself to slide off the saddle. He catches her against his stomach and eases her to the ground with his hands around her waist. He keeps his hands on her for a moment while she balances most of her weight on her good foot, only releasing her when she takes her hands off of his arms. She turns to face the horse and bends slightly to unbuckle the saddle. When she has it undone, she stands upright and finds herself pressed against Connor as he lifts the saddle off the horse. She gasps softly at the unexpected contact but Connor only steps away with the saddle in his arms. Catherine watches him carry it to the porch where the other one is and place it down. She turns back quickly to the horse so he won't see her watching. She takes the blanket off the horse and inspects the animal's damaged skin again, talking softly to him. There are sores on his skin from the extended contact with the saddle and moisture that had collected underneath from the snowfall and the animal's sweat. Farther back on his rump are scars from the hard treatment he had gotten at the hands of his previous owners.

"Poor beast. Those men are gone; you're ours now. We'll make you feel better, I promise. Maybe you'll carry me home some day soon." She feels the horse's legs and lifts each hoof to check for damage. Luckily, he seems to be fine from his adventures in the woods for the past several days.

"How does he seem to you?" Sonehso:wa is looking at Catherine from beside the dappled grey horse he had been brushing and Catherine glances up at him from where she is standing, removing the bridle from the dark horse.

"He's in good condition despite having had a saddle on for days and days. What about yours?"

"This horse is a strong one. He has a few scratches and some missing hair but he will be fine." He pats the animal's side.

"I'm happy to hear it. These horses were abused by their previous owners so they could have been a lot worse." Sonehso:wa nods and Connor comes over to Catherine's side again. He has a handful of the same coarse dry grass Sonehso:wa was using to groom his horse.

"If you wish to rest, I will make sure he is comfortable."

"Thank you, Connor. I think I will go rest." She takes the walking stick from the side of the cabin and leans heavily on it as she walks the short distance to the porch and enters. Once inside, she removes her snowy jacket and boots, placing them on the hooks and hide Connor uses for his own gear. She considers lying down but decides instead to sit by the fireplace and make some tea. She adds wood to the fire and pushes the pot of water close to warm. Her foot aches so she unties the bandage on her foot and puts some of the remaining salve on it. While the water heats, she lies on her left side on the bear hide and rests her head on her arm. As the fire burns hotter she closes her eyes in the warmth and drifts off.

"You haven't said anything to her yet, have you?" Sonehso:wa asks Connor when Catherine is inside.

"No. But I thought about what you said to me last night and you are right. I will tell her as soon as I can. I am having trouble thinking of a way to bring it up." He turns to the dark horse and starts rubbing him down with the grass.

"Just be honest with her from the start."

"I will, but I do not want to say to her, 'Catherine, I think your husband wants you dead, so you might as well stay with me so I can finally kiss you,' she probably would not leap into my arms with happiness." Sonehso:wa laughs and shakes his head, going to the other side of the horse to help Connor groom. He looks at him over the horse's back.

"That would be nice if it worked like that!"

"Yes, but she would probably punch me instead. You have a better way with women than I do." The two men laugh together. They finish grooming the horse and move them over to the area behind the cabin where the cliff forms a natural enclosure that curves into the woods. They move stacks of cut wood from against the cliff to create a low barrier for the horses. It wouldn't contain them if they wanted to leave but the horses seem to have no interest in escaping. They wander over to the side of the wall and start nibbling on the ends of the dry grass poking up through the snow.

"I think I will go for a walk. Maybe you should go check on your wildcat." Sonehso:wa gives Connor a meaningful look and picks up his bow and quiver from the porch, slinging them onto his back as he walks away. Connor opens the door to the cabin quietly and is surprised to see Catherine asleep by the fire, the water boiling in the pot and a mug of herbs ready for brewing. He thought she would be in the bed at least. He silently shuts the door, hangs his coat over hers on the hook and removes his boots, setting them beside hers on the hide. He regards the two sets of boots side by side, hers small and his large and something tugs at him. Could he really accept settling into a more domestic way of life after living a solitary one for so long? He never felt that he could do that before, even admitting to Lyle, the doctor at the Davenport homestead, that he would not make a good husband because he is just too busy. But what if the woman he were to be with would come with him on his trips here and to Boston and New York? What if she were to accept and understand his secrets? Not even Sonehso:wa knew the full extent of his past, only that he maintained regular contact with certain people in the East from during the war. Catherine stirs, her fingers curling into the bear fur next to her face and Connor turns his attention back to her. He shouldn't think about any of this now. Everything hinges on what is to be done about her husband and if not her husband, whoever is behind this and ultimately what Catherine wants. All his wishful thinking would blow away with the wind if she goes back to her husband.

Connor kneels by Catherine's bent knees and leans over her slightly to pull the pot away from the fire with the poker. He scoops some of the water into the tea mixture she had prepared and then makes a cup for himself. Sitting back, he bends his knees up, resting his elbows on them as he studies Catherine sleeping beside him. He looks at her unwrapped foot, noting that the slash is continuing to heal well. It shines slightly from the salve she put onto it. He follows the attractive line of her body up to her face. Her eyes are open and she is watching him look at her. Connor shifts uncomfortably and turns his head to face the fire, hoping that she doesn't feel he was taking liberties with his proximity.

"You are awake." He speaks into the fireplace.

"Yes."

"Are you feeling better?" He dares to look back at her face and she is still looking back at him. She nods slightly.

"How long was I asleep?"

"It has been about an hour since you went inside. The horses are penned in somewhat and Sonehso:wa is out in the woods." Catherine pushes herself up until she is sitting on her hip and supporting herself with one hand on the hide. She reaches over and picks up the mug of tea Connor finished making for her. She takes a sip and wonders if now is the time to bring up Connor and Sonehso:wa's conversation last night. Connor is looking into the fire again. He seems preoccupied but Catherine decides to try.

"Connor… What were you and Sonehso:wa talking about last night? It seemed as if… it was about me." Connor sighs and looks down at the floor. The beads on his braid beside his face shine in the light of the fire and catch his eye.

"It was about you." He puts his mug down on the hearth and turns to face Catherine. He raises his eyes to her face and tries to think of a way to start.

"Catherine, what kind of man is your husband, really? Does he love you?" His question disturbs Catherine and Connor can't believe he let it come out that way. Catherine sits up and tucks her feet under herself. Her hand strays to her chest. "Connor, I… What kind of question is that? Why would I ever doubt his love? He married me!" Her eyebrows shift together as consternation builds in her face.

"I am sorry to ask such a personal question. But I am concerned about whether he really loves you and if he treats you kindly. This is important, Catherine, I need to know." Connor is looking intently at her and his eyes search into hers. His face is deadly serious and Catherine thinks deeply on his question. Her initial avoidance of his query reminds her that she has asked herself the same thing before. She breaks eye contact with Connor and looks away. A growing tightness wraps around her chest and she licks her lips.

"I, um…" She looks back at him and his intensity is disconcerting. Again she avoids his gaze, slightly shaking her head as she considers whether she should lie to Connor or not. She decides that lying isn't worth the risk of later discovery.  "He isn't unkind to me. That much I can assure you of. He has never struck me or tried to hurt me in any way. He makes sure I have what I need and then some. I have money to spend on foolish things if I desire. I have Anika as a companion and lady's maid, paid by Francisco. I may have had to give up some of the things I enjoy, like sewing, but I think if Sergio were not in the same house as we are he may not have restrained me in that way."

"But does he _love_ you?" Connor asks when she meets his gaze again. Catherine's breath catches in her throat and her eyes sting. She takes in a deep, shaking breath and squeezes her shirt in her fist. She lowers her face and whispers.

"Not the way I wish he would." She hangs her head and manages to regain tenuous control of her emotions. "When he came over here from Spain, it was like we had to learn about each other all over again, even though we had written for years. He always said kind things, complimented me, but I never felt that he wanted to know me. I mean the me in here." She lifts her clenched hand from her chest and presses it back again flat as she raises her head again to brave Connor's gaze. She sighs and shakes her head.  "But we were always out with other people, always surrounded and unable to speak in private. I thought things would change when we were married."

"Did they?"

"In some ways, but it's so hard to tell. My father died on our wedding day and I was so sad. Francisco…" Connor feels terrible watching her struggle to open up to him. He tries to soften his expression to encourage her but the knowledge of what he needs to tell her is tearing him inside. "...he never really tried to comfort me. He left me alone with my father for his last moments on this earth when we returned from the wedding. I was still alone when his body was taken away. Only after he was gone did Francisco come to me. He bade me come to dinner, but I couldn't eat. It was the longest dinner I had ever had with Francisco and his father." Now that she is speaking of it, it is hard to stop. Only Anika had known the truth of what her life was like.  "At last dinner was over and Francisco took me to his bed." Connor's eyes narrow, becoming steely and dark. Frowning, he tilts his head back slightly.

"He took you the very day your father died?" Connor's voice is low and quiet.

"It was our wedding night. It was his right as my husband." A tear slides down her cheek and she dashes it away.

"What about your right to mourn your father?"  Connor's voice is almost a growl it is so low with anger. Catherine tips her head back to hold in her tears and sighs in a huff, her shoulders dropping.

"What of it? I had that night to weep for the loss of my father and my maidenhead. After that, I was expected to be presentable at all times in the presence of Sergio and any visitors. Sergio made that clear to Francisco and he relayed the message to me. Weeping was only to take place behind closed doors and out of sight. I got very good at hiding my sadness. I suppose I even started to believe my charade." She looks at Connor and meets his eyes, wiping her tears with her fingers.  "So now I suppose you have your answer. I've tried to love him in my own way, to appreciate what he gives me. It got easier as each day went by. I reminded myself that my father didn't know it would be this way; he sought only for my protection and welfare. I hid my concerns from him about Francisco and he died believing that I was happy."

Connor is quiet as he considers her reluctant admission. She sighs again and continues quietly, shaking her head and picking at one of the stitches on her pants.  

"Every major change in my life has always been the will of others. My father's, my husband's… I know that those decisions were made for me with the best of intentions, but I can't help feeling like I'm only being dragged along in the wake of their ideologies." Connor is struck by the words coming from her. While her circumstances are vastly different from his own, the efforts he had made to affect the people and events around him had turned to ashes in his hands as he also felt swept up in more powerful currents that he knew he would never understand. Catherine looks earnestly into his eyes.  "I want to make my own decisions but I don't want to fight so hard that I destroy my life. My husband… what if what happened to me has already changed me too much? When I see him again will he even want me back, ruined and polluted as I am?" Connor's brow furrows and he looks sharply at Catherine.

"I would hope that he would be happy to see you alive and generally physically unharmed, aside from cuts and bruises, which will heal. It was not your fault what happened to you and he should be there for you to help your heart heal."

"He should, but Anika is more likely to be the one to help me, just as when my father died. I hope Francisco will be happy that I'm alive. I just worry that too much has happened for me to ever be who I was before or for anything to be the same again between us. How can it be? I have been had by three strangers! I'm as dirtied as a whore now. What if Francisco is… what if he rejects me?" Connor's face hardens to stone and his voice becomes low and harsh.

"Any man who would hold something like this against his wife is no man at all. He should have protected you and he failed. If anything, what happened to you is his fault and no one else's." Connor gets up and paces across the width of the cabin, clearly disturbed. As he continues, he raises his voice and his gestures become more emphatic.  "I may not understand many of the traditions of your people and the disparities between the way men and women are treated, but I do know this: The husband's role is always to provide for and protect his family. To lay blame on an innocent woman for wrongs committed against her is unacceptable and is only a means to redirect his own shortcomings." He returns to face Catherine. "If when we get to New York, I find out that he blames any of this on you, or worse, was behind it, I will become personally involved."

Catherine is shocked at Connor's sudden display of anger and his accusation towards her husband. Despite her own fears that Francisco would indeed blame her for what happened, she could never believe that he would actually have caused it to occur. Connor's hostile attitude is frightening. If he were to take action against her husband, Sergio would surely have him imprisoned or even killed. Since Connor had already displayed his deadly capabilities in defense of her once, she has no doubt that he would do it again, especially based on what she is seeing of him now.

"Connor, please, I'm sure he wouldn't back anyone harming me, how could you say that?"

"Are you really sure? What I saw the other day leads me to believe otherwise." Catherine is confused more than ever. Fear grips her heart like a cold hand. She shakes her head, trying to understand.

"What did you see?" She is truly frightened now and Connor is clenching his fists tightly. He starts pacing again restlessly.

"I returned the day after I found you and scouted the place where you were held. The cabin had burned to the ground and there were four men searching the ruins. They were looking for you. For proof of your death." Catherine clutches the neckline of her shirt and stares, horrified, at Connor.

"What are you saying? That what happened to me was… planned?"

"Those men were employed by someone who wanted you dead." Catherine makes a strangled sound in her throat and her heart feels like it is about to explode in her chest. Connor crouches down in front of her and takes her by the shoulders.  "Do you have any enemies at all, anyone you can think of who would want to harm you in any way? That is why I needed to know if your husband loves you, which he clearly does not." Catherine shakes her head and leans away from Connor, resisting his grasp on her shoulders.

"I still don't understand why you think Francisco is behind this! What haven't you told me?"

"The men spoke of their employer. Someone called The Don. When you told me your husband is from Spain…" Catherine clutches at Connor's elbows and tries to push him away. Her face is horrified. He releases his grip on her shoulders and she doubles over with a cry, her left hand still on his elbow.

"No, no! Are you sure they said that?" She covers her mouth and looks like she is going to vomit.

"They mentioned the man twice by that title." Connor heart sinks as he watches her reaction to his words.

"Oh God. Oh dear God!  That isn't my husband. That's Sergio. He makes all his hired men call him that even though he isn't one." Connor is silent as he takes in this new information. After a moment, he speaks quietly to her.

"So your father in law, the man always looking to make money, pushed you and Francisco to marry before your father died and then hired men to abduct and kill you. Are you sure your husband was not involved?" Catherine sits up again and scowls at Connor, pushing his elbow out of her grasp and away from her.

"Still you think Francisco wants me dead! Why? He isn't like his father!" Catherine's voice rises until she is nearly shouting. Connor's voice remains low and steady but his anger singes every word.

"Because I do not understand how any man could refuse to allow his wife time to grieve the death of her beloved father before making her submit to consummating the marriage. He seemed to be in a rush to ensure that he would retain ownership of your inheritance, if I understand how the law of white men works. As far as I am concerned, he was the first to rape you." Catherine cries out and slaps Connor as hard as she can. She struggles to her feet and backs away from him as he turns his face back to her. Tears stream unchecked from her eyes.

"How _dare_ you compare my husband to those… monsters! _How dare you!_ They're nothing alike! Nothing! You don't understand how things are where I'm from." She backs into the shelving along the wall, her hand knocking a book onto the floor as she grasps the edge. Connor's left cheek stings hotly from her slap. He raises his hand to it and touches it with his fingers.

"I understand enough to know that the term 'savages' is severely misplaced when white men like your husband use it to refer to my people. Women are not just pretty little possessions to us, to be used whenever a man wishes and then tossed aside. Your men treat women like property, as if they own them, body and spirit. I have seen it before. Your husband should have let you grieve instead of selfishly using you for his own satisfaction, wedding day or not. I will _never_ spare him criticism for treating you that way... like a true savage." He watches as Catherine leans against the low shelving, her head turned to face the floor and her hand over her mouth.

Catherine breathes heavily and tries to digest what Connor has said to her. His people are different but how could he have called her husband a rapist? She is still reeling from the level of hatred Sergio must have had for her to want her dead. Was it always only about her inheritance? Did he push Francisco to marry her just for that? Is that really why Francisco never comforted her or even bothered to ask if she wanted to wait to consummate their marriage? Connor has made a terrifying and powerful case against her husband and she can see why he is so angry about it. Another thought falls heavily like lead in her heart. She looks over to where Connor is still kneeling on the hide. His cheek is red where she struck him. His hands are resting on his thighs and he is hunched forward looking at the floor. Catherine sinks to her knees clutching the shelving. Connor looks up at her and their eyes meet. His eyes are still filled with the fire of his angry frustration.

"Connor…" her voice is a croak and she swallows hard, trying to quell the rising sour taste in her mouth.  "Connor, he never had me again after that first time…"

"What…?" Connor's enraged whisper almost echoes in the cabin.  Catherine is silent for a long time, her hand over her mouth and her head shaking. She finally looks over at Connor again and lowers her hand.

"As you said, he made legally sure he had everything I could give and never touched me again… I can't see how it could mean anything else now." She hugs herself and leans her head against the shelf. To Connor, she looks impossibly small and defeated, as if her last statement caused her entire presence to collapse inward as it left her lips. She speaks to him without looking up.

"May I please be alone for a while? I need to just… be alone." Connor gets up and takes his boots and jacket, not even putting them on before leaving the cabin. On the porch, he dresses and starts to walk down the edge of the gorge. When he is part way down the trail, a single scream of anguish carries to him from the cabin, followed by the sound of something shattering. He wants to return to her but she asked him to leave. He knows he handled the situation badly. When he doesn't hear anything else, he reluctantly continues walking. Sonehso:wa meets him as he is coming back up the gorge. He takes in Connor's reddened cheek with an amused grin and whistles.

"Were you really stupid enough to ask for a kiss?" He stops smiling when he sees how serious Connor's face is. "It did not go well, did it?"

"It definitely could not have gone any worse. We need to give her some time alone. Not only was her husband a part of this, her father in law was the one to hire the men who took her." Sonehso:wa opens and closes his mouth in shock, for once lacking something to say. He falls in beside Connor and they walk on in silence, the afternoon sun washing out as clouds roll in from the north and west.

Catherine weeps against the shelving, wishing she had never survived to know this. Nothing in her life that she thought she had exists anymore. She feels like a ghost, pale and transient, fading away in the sunlight. And what of Anika, poor girl, probably dismissed by Sergio and thinking she is dead. What will become of her? With no place to go to, she will be forced into who knows what to survive… How could she have been so thoroughly deceived for so long? And her father... He thought Francisco would take care of her. Why didn't she speak up to him of her concerns? But what good would that have done a dying man? He would have died in misery, not in peace!

Catherine crawls over to the hide and picks up the mug of tea. It has gone cold and she clutches it in her trembling hands. Her body shakes as she struggles to contain all her misery, anger and pain from her entire world crumbling to dust and revealing her reality to be nothing but a dream. Her life has become a nightmare with no hope of awakening. The pain in her heart threatens to consume her fully and she screams out loud, flinging the cup into the fireplace with all her force. It hits the back corner and explodes, a shard flying out and nicking her just below her right eyebrow. The stinging shock of it drops her to her hands and knees again and she curls up on the bear hide holding her hand to her bleeding face. She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling of the cabin, pressing her hand hard on the gash. Thoughts roll through her head like a violent storm, mixed up and difficult to sort out. No matter how she turns her tangled future, there is no hope to be found, no thread to cling to. Her attempts to understand how everything started to go wrong feel futile and she tries to push it all away, filling its place in her head with a fervent wish for her heart to just stop beating. It stubbornly defies her will. The effort takes its toll and she drops into a troubled sleep with tears still falling from her eyes.

Connor and Sonehso:wa return to the cabin when the sun is setting. It is silent and dark through the windows so Connor opens the door a crack and peeks through it only to see Catherine sleeping on the bear hide, her head turned away from the door and one arm flung over her face. He motions to Sonehso:wa to be quiet and they slip inside, retreating to the table to remove their boots and jackets. Catherine wakes despite their care. She sits up and looks at the men before getting up and limping to the bed. She crawls under the covers and pulls the blankets up to her chin. She knows they saw the blood on her face but she doesn't care to talk about it. Rolling onto her side, she tries to shut out the world again in the hope of escaping her pain.

Connor and Sonehso:wa have a brief whispered conversation about Catherine.

"Brother, she is injured. What happened in here?"  Sonehso:wa is irate with Connor.

"Nothing I did. We spoke difficult words, she asked me to leave and so I left. I heard her scream and the sound of something shattering. It must be from that." Connor looks around the cabin and notives a shard of pottery on the floor by the storage door. He nods in the direction and Sonehso:wa turns to look. He spots a few more pieces of broken pottery in the fireplace. Connor sees them too.

"Just leave it. She does not seem like she wants to talk to me anymore so I will not even ask. She probably hates me now."

"Just give her time."

"Time is not going to change that I just destroyed her life."

"You did not destroy it, her husband did. You just had the unpleasant task of telling her." Sonehso:wa regards his friend.  Connor picks at a groove in the table and frowns so Sonehso:wa leaves him there.  He gets the fire going again and Connor retrieves some meat from the porch to cook. They cook in silence, listening to Catherine sighing and tossing restlessly on the bed. Finally, she gets up and silently joins them at the fire, sitting down next to Connor. Connor dips a cloth into some water and holds it out to her. At first she ignores him but then takes it from his hand. She scrubs the blood off her hand and wrist and then gently tries to clean her face where the blood had run down her cheek and back into her hairline. When she finishes, she holds the cloth in her lap. She stares at it and folds and refolds it in her hands nervously. Connor lowers his hand lightly over her wrist as she continues folding the cloth in her lap. She considers shaking him off but lacks the energy. She looks up at Connor and her eyes are shining with tears. He meets her eyes and keeps his voice soft.

"Catherine, I spoke thoughtlessly earlier; I was upset. I should not have made my point in such a cruel way. Please forgive me."

"I will _not_ apologize for striking you, if that's what you're getting at." Catherine's words are clipped and tart. Sonehso:wa turns partly away from them as they speak, trying to give them privacy. Ratonhnhake:ton did not elaborate on how Catherine came to striking him and he isn't surprised that he had said something careless in the heat of anger. Smirking, he pictures Catherine hitting him for his indiscretion. That probably took him by surprise. With some effort, he suppresses a laugh. He knows the situation is a serious one but he can't help being amused at Ratonhnhake:ton's self-made predicament.

"I do not want you to. I deserved it."  Connor says quietly.

"I need to figure out what I'm to do with what you told me. I am truly lost now, whether I'm dead or with no home or family to return to. I've no idea what will become of me now." She wipes her face with her sleeve, wincing when she rubs her cut eyebrow.

"I will do what I can to help you, if you wish it. I have… contacts… in New York who might be able to assist you." Catherine just nods and Connor takes his hand off hers before turning his attention back to the fire. The rest of the evening passes quietly. Catherine only eats a few bites of food before setting her plate aside and curling up with her arms wrapped around her knees. She stares into the fire, her thoughts burrowing deep into her heart, looking for escape. The men are silent as well. She jumps when Connor touches her knee lightly.

"You should try to sleep, Catherine." She turns her head at his whisper and looks at him quietly, her face drawn and pale, the pinkness that usually colors her lips and cheeks faded. Without a word, she rises to her feet and walks away from him. She does not bother taking off her hide shirt as is her usual habit, opting to just crawl under the covers fully dressed. Connor lowers his head into his hands and sighs.

"You did the right thing, brother, even if it upset her. She needed to know." Sonehso:wa whispers in Kanien'keha. Connor shakes his head.

"She may have needed to know, but I handled it all wrong. She never stopped fighting through every terrible thing she has endured; she never stopped! But now she is broken and it is because of me." Hours after they all retire, Connor listens to Catherine softly crying in the bed. His heart aches for her and he longs to go to her, take her in his arms and hold her but she would push him away with disgust. Blaming himself fully for her misery, he rolls on his side and tries not to hear her sorrow. He touches his cheek and wishes the pain had not faded so easily while Catherine's marches steadily onward, cruelly eroding her spirit with every passing second.


	6. Day Six

Day 6

The men are up and out of the cabin again when Catherine wakes and she wonders how she slept through them getting up and starting the fire. Her eyes are scratchy and the weight of yesterday's revelations crush against her chest. She wishes Anika were there with her. The thought of Sergio throwing Anika out in the middle of winter with no place to go makes Catherine sick. Though she is a resourceful girl, she is also very pretty and a pretty girl alone on the rough streets of New York is not a good combination. She is almost guaranteed to become a victim. Catherine clutches her stomach and cannot stop herself from picturing Anika's beautiful face and rosy lips bruised and cut from an attacker, her long blonde hair tangled and her body ravaged by the same kinds of men who captured her. Catherine looks out the windows and stares at the snow falling. Lacking the ambition to get up, she rolls on her side and tries to go to sleep again but the images she had conjured up about Anika persistently fill her head. Her heart rate increases steadily until she feels as if it will burst from her chest and every breath she takes seems restricted by an invisible band around her ribs. A rising panic that she is suffocating threatens to overtake her.

Desperate for fresh air, Catherine drags herself out of bed, gets into her boots and jacket and goes out into the weather. She leans against the porch railing and breathes deeply of the cold air until some of her anxiety settles. Everything in sight beyond the cover of the porch is a muted grey-white from the falling snow. The horses are indistinct shadows near the cliff beyond where Connor collects ice for water. Shallow, indented paths are all that remain of the well used trails they had made through the snow. A single trail of partially filled footprints leads toward the horses and back. Two sets of deeper footprints, edged by upturned snow, head down the trail along the gorge away from the cabin, revealing the direction Connor and Sonehso:wa had gone. Even those borders are being softened by the steady snowfall.

Catherine lifts the hood of her jacket over her head and steps off the porch. She forges her own trail to the horses along the previous path, her shorter stride not allowing her to follow in the original footprints. Instead, she keeps her feet close to the ground, dragging her legs through the snow and plowing a furrow through to each large footstep. The horses are huddled together against the cliff beneath a natural overhang and Catherine steps between two piles of logs to see them. Both horses have their saddle blankets on and she is grateful that Connor and Sonehso:wa thought to keep them warm. She pats each horse and kisses their velvety noses, the bristly hairs of their lips brushing against her chin. The dark chestnut nudges her shoulder but Catherine expects it and manages to stay on her feet. She walks to a pile of logs and sits, the horses following her and looking for more attention. Over by the cliff, the rumbling of the gorge waterfall is much less obvious, allowing the crisp ticking of the snow hitting the branches of the trees and the sides of the cabin to fill the air. The horses snort every now and then, sending bursts of mist from their nostrils.

Surrounded by such majestic, natural beauty, Catherine wishes she could say that she is happy. Here is everything she loves about this land, yet her heart is scarred by the betrayal of the very man she had vowed before God to spend the rest of her life with. Even here, miles from where her husband and father in law are, their fingers dig into her flesh, trying to pluck her soul from her body. They may not have succeeded in taking her life but they continue to plague her mind. Whether Francisco had a significant influence in Sergio's machinations or not, he still played his part. If not for Connor's timely intervention she would be dead and she reminds herself that death is what they both had wanted for her. Catherine hardens her heart to any affection she may still have fostered for Francisco before yesterday's dark realization. It has no effect on the crippling sadness that pulls on her body, making it feel many times heavier than reality. Catherine rests her forehead on the long face of the chestnut horse and allows her hot tears to trail down her cheeks. She climbs up onto the pile of logs and shimmies onto the chestnut's back, settling herself astride the blanket. Once there, she leans all the way down and rests her body on the horse and her face on his neck. His shaggy winter coat is warm on her cheek and the stiff hair of his mane tickles her ear. She closes her eyes and breathes in the dusty, sweet hay smell of the horse, absently patting his neck with one hand while the grey horse nuzzles her other.

Connor and Sonehso:wa are trekking along the cliff wall towards the cabin from setting snares in the woods when Connor pulls up suddenly. Sonehso:wa nearly walks into his back and has to jump to the side to avoid him. Connor's shoulders are rigid with tension as he gazes through the trees, his eyebrows drawn together with worry and his rapid, shallow breathing through his open mouth barely creating a haze in the chilled air. Up ahead, where the cliff curves south toward the gorge, Catherine is lying on the chestnut horse; Connor is staring at her. She is certainly a pretty sight, her pale face against the dark hide of the horse and her hand reaching to the grey horse to pat him. Her curly hair hangs down from inside her hood and dangles over the horse's shoulder. Connor is completely besotted with her, and Sonehso:wa senses his friend's frustration at being unable to act on his feelings. Compounding Connor's troubles is his overblown guilt at being the conduit for her sadness.

"I cannot face her, brother. She looks so relaxed and if she sees me she will not be." Connor speaks barely above a whisper and in Kanien'keha, as if Catherine could hear him from so far away. Sonehso:wa humors his needless caution, keeping his voice just as low.

"Wait here. See how she reacts to me first. Maybe I can talk to her for a while and she will not leave when you show up."

"Fine. Just do not say anything foolish."

"I do not intend to get hit like you did…." He casts an impudent look over his shoulder and walks through the trees towards Catherine. Connor leans his shoulder against a tree and peeks his head around to watch their interaction.

Catherine opens her eyes and looks up when she hears the low, squeaking sound of Sonehso:wa's feet in the snow as he approaches her. She braces her hand against the horse's side and sits up, steadying herself when he shifts his hooves.

"Is the dark one yours? You seem to favor him." Catherine looks past Sonehso:wa, searching for Connor. When she can't see him, she turns back to Sonehso:wa.

"I do like him. The grey is friendly too but this one understands me." Sonehso:wa goes to the grey horse and pats his neck.

"Just as well. I prefer this one. Ratonhnhake:ton tells me you are quite the rider." Catherine's face goes blank and she turns her red rimmed eyes away.

"He doesn't know what kind of rider I am." Her voice is flat and emotionless. Sonehso:wa watches Catherine swallow hard and the muscles of her jaw clench tightly. She is holding herself together but just barely. He moves closer to the chestnut horse and extends his arm as if to touch her foot, stopping just shy of it.

"Catherine. He did not intend to hurt you by telling you what he knew. He did not even want to tell you so soon but I made him speak. He knew it would be hard on you and he was right, I can see that. Do not punish him for wanting to protect you." Catherine's lips quiver and she presses them tightly together as she looks down at Sonehso:wa standing next to her. His eyes are full of sincerity and though Catherine respects his attempts to support his friend, she is still angry.

"Even though what he found out is probably true, he had no right to say my husband raped me." Sonehso:wa's mouth falls open as she sighs angrily and turns away again, wiping away the tears that fall from her eyes.

"I… did not know he said that. Is that why you hit him?" Catherine nods, still looking away from him. Sonehso:wa sighs and lowers his head, collecting his thoughts.

"I know Ratonhnhake:ton well, and he says things without thinking when he is angry. He probably felt he needed to get his point across urgently. He has his own ideas of honor sometimes that are difficult to understand or live up to. He did not mean to hurt you by saying what he did. He felt strongly that you had been wronged." Sonehso:wa places his palm on the toe of her boot and she turns back to him.

"He most certainly got his point across and it hurt me very much! Unfortunately, while I don't feel my husband necessarily raped me, I do feel that the rest of Connor's theory is right. My husband wanted to get my inheritance legally and that meant marital consummation… however morally wrong Connor thinks the circumstances were. Whether he considers it rape or not is nothing I can change now. It's done and I've lost everything. I may as well be dead because I can't go home now. I have no home. My maid and best friend is probably dead or forced into prostitution to survive, and it's all because of a stupid inheritance, which I care nothing at all for." Catherine's voice had risen as she spoke and she finishes her statement by sweeping her hand through the air. She shakes with renewed tears and Sonehso:wa squeezes her foot in his hand.

"Do not say that you should be dead! There is always another path. Always another way." Sonehso:wa's conviction is touching but Catherine has no faith in his words.

"Maybe for you, Sonehso:wa. Not for me. And Anika's only hope is to find a place as a servant in another house before something terrible happens to her."

"Would it make a difference to know that Ratonhnhake:ton cannot even face you for the shame he feels at your suffering?" Catherine frowns at Sonehso:wa with skepticism but when he continues to hold her gaze with his, the hard line of her mouth softens. She takes a deep, shaking breath and rubs her eyes with her fingers.

"Where is he?" Sonehso:wa tilts his head in the direction from where he came.

"He is over that way hoping you will not hate him forever. He blames himself for your pain."

"Is he really so bothered by how I feel?" Sonehso:wa smiles up at her and lifts his hand from her boot, holding it out towards the forest and Connor.

"More than you know…"

Catherine purses her lips and spurs her horse, jumping the barrier of stacked wood and guiding the horse with her knees along Sonehso:wa's footprints. Connor is no stranger to betrayal. She thinks about what it must have been like for Connor to grow up wanting only justice for the death of his mother, biding his time until he was old enough and strong enough to leave and seek out training. He had mentioned that despite everything he did he still lost his personal battle. No wonder he is so incensed at her situation. His past ensured that he would never tolerate injustice in any form, including Francisco taking her to his bed the very day her father died. A large part of her anger towards Connor crumbles in the light of this new understanding.

Connor pulls his head back behind the tree when Catherine starts toward him, wondering why he trusted his wily friend not to reveal his whereabouts. He scowls and rests his head against the tree. When Catherine nears, he steps out from behind the tree, reaching up to the horse to stop him. Catherine looks down at Connor, meeting his eyes. His face is mostly calm but the sides of his mouth and the corners of his eyes are tight with concern. She knows what she can ask of him so he can help her.

"You said you have contacts in New York?"

"I do."  Connor's voice is clipped and tense.

"What kind of contacts?"

Connor considers his words before answering.

"They are people I met and recruited during my training with Achilles and the war. They form a network of information gatherers and are people of action."

"Can they get information on Anika? Try to save her from ruin if it isn't already too late?"

"I can send word to them, yes. They will find her if she is there." His words are more reassuring than Catherine expected.  Her body relaxes and her shoulders drop as she sighs.

"Since there's nothing that can be done to save me, I want to try to save her." She runs her fingers through her horse's mane.

"I will make sure that everything possible will be done to find her and protect her. I promise you that, Catherine." Catherine shifts her gaze from her hand in the horse's mane over to Connor.

"Connor… Sonehso:wa spoke in your defense for what you said to me. While I still don't fully agree with certain things that you said, he stands behind your intentions. He told me he pushed you to tell me what you knew, that you preferred to shield me from the awful truth. I wish… I wish there had been nothing to tell, but since there was, I'm glad I know now. And… I understand why you are so upset about what happened on my wedding day. I don't hate you for it. I hate this whole situation; I hate myself most of all for being so foolish and naïve… " Connor watches the snow collect on the fur of the hood around Catherine's face and on her curls hanging over her shoulder. The thick fur and her hair both tremble with her body as she fights to keep herself composed.  He takes a step closer and slides his hand along the horse's neck.

"None of this is your fault, so there is no reason to hate yourself. I should have found a better way of telling you what I knew. I am sorry for being so harsh. I should have kept my opinion of your husband to myself."

"Well, Sonehso:wa helped me to see it from your perspective. He's a loyal friend." Her throat is constricted but she knows what Sonehso:wa had expressed was the unadulterated truth.  Connor smiles wryly.

"Loyal enough to reveal my hiding place?"

"That's not fair, Connor! I asked him to tell me." Connor shrugs and Catherine reaches her hand down from the horse's mane and touches the backs of his fingers. Connor takes her hand in his and squeezes it.  Catherine takes a deep breath. "I forgive you for what you said. I know now that it was only because you cared. You and Sonehso:wa are the only people I have in the world that I can trust, it seems. We need to stick together." Connor's shoulders relax and some of the tension leaves his face at her words. It's obvious that Sonehso:wa had not been exaggerating when he said Connor had been harboring blame. Connor sighs and squeezes her hand again.

"Nya:wen, Catherine. Thank you." He releases her hand and she straightens, resting her hand on her leg. Connor steps back and Catherine clicks her tongue, signaling her horse to walk. She turns her head to look at Connor as she rides away. He watches her go among the trees until she is almost out of sight, easily maneuvering the horse with her legs.

When he turns to walk back to the cabin, he is hit in the chest with a snowball and hears Sonehso:wa laughing hard from somewhere above in the trees. Connor staggers and scoops up snow to return the favor. He reels around, scanning the branches by the cliff for his friend. When he spots him and throws the snowball, Sonehso:wa dodges away, yelling over his shoulder at Connor.

"I wanted to do that while you were talking to her!"

"You are lucky that our conversation went well, brother." Connor shouts after him. He runs beneath the trees, following Sonehso:wa and flinging snowballs whenever he can grab a handful of snow. Sonehso:wa rains pinecones on him from the branches, laughing wildly at every near miss and forcing Connor to dodge behind trees and dive to the sides to avoid being pelted with the sharp projectiles. Connor stays behind a tree until Sonehso:wa starts to creep closer. While he waits, he hides two pinecones inside two large snowballs. If Sonehso:wa is going to play dirty, so will he. At the right moment Connor rolls out of cover, cradling his ammunition against his chest in one hand. Sonehso:wa is in mid jump to another branch when Connor plots his first throw. He anticipates that Sonehso:wa will duck when he lands and lobs a fortified snowball at where he imagines his chest will be. To Connor's unmitigated satisfaction, the snowball hits Sonehso:wa in the back of the head, snow exploding away from the pinecone on impact. Sonehso:wa shouts in shock, the blow nearly toppling him from the branches.

"I surrender!" Sonehso:wa yells as he jumps down into the trampled snow below the tree.

"Too bad. I was hoping I could use this one too." Connor holds out the second oversized snowball with a smirk, crushing it in his hand and letting the snow fall through his fingers until he is only holding the pinecone. Sonehso:wa rubs the back of his head in dismay at the sight of it.

"That is why it hurt so much! Who taught you to fight so dirty?"

"You did, brother." Connor tosses the pinecone to Sonehso:wa and starts walking toward the cabin. Sonehso:wa catches it and flings it to the side with a laugh.

Inside the cabin, Connor grows serious.

"I need to go to the city of Albany to send some messages to my contacts in New York. More than likely, I will then travel all the way to New York itself. Catherine is worried about her friend, Anika."

"Yes, she spoke of that to me just before I told her where you were." He grins and Connor rolls his eyes.

"It will take several days of riding for me to reach Albany. Would you be willing to stay here with her while I am gone? As a hunted woman, she will be safer here where no eyes will see her, especially if I go all the way to New York. I promised I would help her so I will do all that I can to secure her friend's safety. I only hope I will not be too late."

"Catherine fears her friend is either dead or made to be a prostitute to survive. It does not sound like there is much hope for her."

"It does not matter. I need to try. If she is alive I have to find her."

"I can go with the messages if you would prefer to stay here with your wildcat. I am not used to living in a place like this. I prefer a longhouse or the open air."

"I refuse to put you at risk."

"It is what I would prefer, brother. I have travelled far before and dealt with white men. And the more time you spend with her, the better. You probably would kill me if I won her heart while you were gone." Sonehso:wa laughs at Connor's frown.

"Fine. You go. I will write the letters now. There is a general goods store in the center of Albany owned by a man named Isaac Young. You can send the letters ahead on one of the fast ships by speaking with him. I have sent many messages through him so you can tell him you come in my name. My white name, Connor. He also manages a sum of money for me. The cost of the messages can be taken from there, as well as whatever you need for your travels. He is trustworthy." Sonehso:wa nods as Connor speaks. Connor retrieves an item from the storage area. It is a leather belt attached to the two long side arms of a triangular symbol with a curved bottom. The symbol is made of steel and is the same shape as Connor's unique tomahawk blade.

"This will be the proof of your connection to me. It is the symbol of our brotherhood. Show it to Isaac when you tell him you come from me. When you reach New York, you will find my contact there living with his family in the eastern part of the city. His name is Jacob Zenger. He works as a bodyguard for the owner of the Bank of New York. Introduce yourself as my emissary; you must show him the symbol. He will not trust you otherwise. Others who are hostile to our cause would recognize it so be cautious. I do not want you involved in that conflict more than necessary, for your own safety. Jacob is the only one of my contacts who is married, so if it comes to removing Anika from a bad situation, his wife Wilhemina will be able to help her. She runs a clothing shop near where they live that can also be used as a front for her employment if necessary.

"The second contact I will write to is Jamie Colley. He will only get involved if Jacob needs him to, but in the event that you cannot find Jacob, find Jamie instead. He is a doctor in the western part of the city," Sonehso:wa palms the buckle, looking it over. He scrutinizes Connor's face for further explanations but recognizes when his friend is not willing to expound. He loops the belt around his waist, tucking the buckle under his own belt and covering the triangular symbol with the beaded leather.

"When would you have me leave?"

"When you are ready."

"I will leave today." Sonehso:wa says with confidence.  Connor acknowledges his offer silently and collects his writing implements.

Catherine rides through the forest thinking on what Sonehso:wa told her about Connor and holding it up to what she has experienced during these few days she has been living with him. Until last night, she had never seen him so outwardly angry, even when she had told him of the events during her captivity. Yes, he had been angry then but he had also killed all of her captors, thinking he had freed her from them. This is different. He knew that someone else had orchestrated what had befallen her and still lived. The fact that it was her father in law and husband only made him even more furious. Finding out about her wedding night simply became the grease thrown on an already nearly out of control fire. Catherine can no longer blame him for what he said.

The more she thinks on her wedding night, the more horrible it seems despite still believing that any man would have taken his marital right. The whole time was such a blur and she hardly knew what was happening, her grief was so great. Now, as she thinks on it the details stand out in hideous clarity. She remembers Anika leaving with her dress, petticoats and corset, giving her a small encouraging smile as she closed the door. Francisco entered in a robe and untied it, letting it drop to the floor. He climbed naked on the bed, lifted her shift to her waist, pushed her legs apart and rubbed his saliva on her to ease his entrance. She felt no arousal from his touch and the sharp discomfort of his penetration seemed minor compared to the pain in her heart, though his deeper thrusts near the end had made her gasp. She had focused her eyes on the ceiling behind Francisco's head as he moved over her. When he was done, he had simply withdrawn himself and allowed his ejaculate to trickle from her onto the sheets. He picked up his robe, put it on and requested that she have Anika change the sheets immediately.  Then he left her alone in the room. He hadn't kissed her or made any effort to give her pleasure.

Anika had found her curled on her side weeping and held her until she regained some control of her emotions. Between shaking sobs, Catherine told Anika of the experience. When she was through, Anika dampened a cloth at the bedroom ewer so Catherine could clean herself off. They changed the sheets and remade the bed together and Catherine did her best to prepare for sleeping next to the man who was now her husband. After that first night, Francisco did not ask her sleep with or give herself to him again so Catherine stayed in her separate bedroom with Anika.

Now she is here, having endured the brutality of the men who had made her their plaything. She is certain she would have been murdered by morning if Connor had not shown up. She sighs and wonders what she will do now that she can never return to New York. Maybe she could go someplace far from there, find work as a lady's maid or seamstress and live in a boarding house. She could start making her own decisions. If Anika is alive, she could take her along and they could go away and never come back. Her husband would not find them if they are careful and change their names.

Her thoughts stray in a different direction. What if she stayed here, with Connor? His protective overtures toward her and his righteous anger regarding her abuse make her believe he could be a safer alternative than striking out on her own. He has been so kind to her, tolerating her distrust and fear with patience and tenderness. What would it be like to have someone like that as a husband instead of a man like Francisco? The thought of Connor as her husband makes her stomach nervous and fluttery. He isn't unattractive, despite being so different from what she is used to with his dark skin and Indian heritage. His body is hale and very well formed. In part, his powerful presence and deep seated emotional intensity make him even more attractive. He had already shown his willingness to care for her and he had compassionately consoled her, touching her face so softly with his hand when he held her in the storage room.

 _Would he want me if I offered myself to him, if only for the protection he could provide? It would make me no better than a common whore... perhaps worse. Now that I'm ruined and used up, I doubt he would want me, so why bother even wondering? I'm still technically married anyway._ Catherine's dark musings make her feel weak in body and spirit.

Sonehso:wa's words on Connor's sense of honor surface and she realizes that simply offering her body to Connor as payment for his protection would be a bad idea. He would never take advantage of her offer, however willingly she gave it, if she did not love him. She feels drawn to him in some ways but everything in her life has changed so much she is afraid to let herself feel anything anymore. _Could I ever grow to care for him or will I forever be doomed to live my life bound to a man by nothing other than obligation?_

During her considerations, the horse had stopped walking without her noticing and was nosing around in the snow for a snack. Catherine refocuses on the woods around her and clicks her tongue at the horse.  She turns him back along the river until she recognizes the trail leading up the gorge. At the top of the trail, she directs the horse to the improvised paddock and lowers herself to a stack of wood. The snow is churned up all over the place and pinecones and dark green needles litter the snow beneath the trees, a few pinecones sitting at the end of tracks in the snow as if they had been thrown. She pictures the two men chasing each other around throwing pinecones like children. She walks toward the cabin and stamps the snow off her boots and shakes off her jacket on the porch. Inside, Connor is sitting at the table writing something and Sonehso:wa is packing up his bedroll, his weapons lying on the floor in front of where he is kneeling by the fireplace. The men look up at her as she walks in the door.

"What's going on?" she asks.  Sonehso:wa remains silent and turns his attention to his bedroll.  Connor lays his quill down.

"I am writing to my contacts in New York and Sonehso:wa has offered to take them to the shipping lines out of Albany for me. He will then continue on to New York and meet with my contacts."

"You're leaving right now? It's still snowing!" Catherine gasps.  Sonehso:wa looks back up at her when he hears the concern in her voice.

"The sooner we get the messages sent, the sooner we will find her, Catherine. It is better not to wait." Catherine touches her hand to her mouth and nods, unable to speak for the choking gratitude filling her. Connor stands and approaches her.

"It will take time for Sonehso:wa to get there and more time for the ship to take my notes to New York. Once my contacts find Anika, I have requested that they either employ her if she needs it or monitor her current situation and make sure she does not come to harm. Once Sonehso:wa gets there, they will decide what to do for her. I need your help though." He holds his hand out toward the table. Catherine takes her seat and Connor returns to his to face her.  "I need you to provide a description of Anika for my contacts, anything that will help them find her." Catherine swallows her emotions and focuses her mind on keeping herself in control. Connor picks up the quill, dips it into the ink and waits, watching her. Catherine shrugs out of her coat.

"Her name is Anika Reitz. She's twenty four years old, German. She's about my height, just a tiny bit shorter, with long, straight, light blonde hair that she either wears braided and pinned at the back of her head or loose and held away from her face with a scarf. Her eyes are large, round and green. There are freckles across her nose and cheeks that make her look younger than she is. She has an oval face with pink cheeks and she's very beautiful." The scratching of Connor's quill fills the room until he finishes writing what she described.  He then looks up at her.

"What is her build? Is she thin?"

"Yes, she's quite slender. She has an… attractive figure; fuller on top than me."  Catherine gestures in a way that encompasses her breasts. "Oh, do we have to include that? It sounds lewd and inappropriate."

"I think we should keep it. You do not want them wasting time looking for the wrong person. Does she have any remarkable features that would be easy to identify?"

"Um… she has very small feet."

"I meant something like a scar."  Connor touches the one on his own cheek.

"No, she doesn't have any scars that I can think of. One of her front teeth is a little crooked."

"That is good. They will have to look for her with what we have here if you can think of nothing else. Is there any way they can make sure they have the right woman? Something they can ask her that only she will know?" Catherine ponders Connor's question for a moment.

"She tore her skirt when she was sixteen when we were sneaking back into the house one night. Ask her where we went and why we had to sneak back inside. She should tell you that we secretly went to a tavern on the other side of the city and got exceptionally intoxicated. No one knows that but us. My father never found out though I have no idea how we didn't wake him with our foolish giggling and bumping into things.  We never took such an asinine risk again." Connor glances up at Catherine and tries to imagine her at eighteen, drunk and stumbling into her father's house late at night with her friend. He finishes writing and then pulls over a second letter and duplicates the information. He folds each letter in thirds when they are dry and flips them over, addressing them and then sealing them closed. Sonehso:wa comes over to the table and Connor hands the notes to him. He tucks them into his bag and then looks to Catherine.

"I will ride as fast as I can to Albany and get these on their way. I am sure we will find her, Catherine." Catherine stands up suddenly and hugs Sonehso:wa. He hugs her in return, surprised at her unexpected display of affection.

"Thank you! She's like a sister to me and I'm so grateful." Sonehso:wa turns to Connor when Catherine releases him and he stands as well.

"Brother." He speaks in Kanien'keha.

"Brother." Sonehso:wa pulls on his wrap, puts his weapons in their places, picks up his bag and bedroll with his blanket inside and walks to the door. He exits without looking back, his braid swinging slightly behind him. He passes by the windows carrying one of the bridles and a leather strap from a saddle. A few minutes later, he rides by the windows on the grey horse, his belongings strapped behind him, trotting down the trail along the gorge. Catherine has the curled fingers of both hands covering her mouth and her eyes shine with tears of gratitude. Connor can think of nothing to say so he reaches out to her and touches her upper arm. She turns to face him and he takes a step closer. When he slides his hand up her arm towards her shoulder she leans in until her forehead is against his chest. She lets out a single gasping sob and wraps her arms around his waist, holding onto him tightly. Connor slowly embraces her, sliding his hands across her back underneath her hair. Catherine heaves another sad sigh and grasps the back of his shirt in both of her hands below his shoulder blades. She turns her head so that the side of her face is against his chest so Connor slides his hand across her shoulders and up onto her head where he strokes her hair. She speaks into his chest as he holds her.

"Do you really think they'll find her? Sonehso:wa is very optimistic."

"I believe so. The last thing I want to do is promise you something I cannot make happen. But they will try. They are good at what they do, WildCat, so I am not without all hope." His voice vibrates in his chest against her cheek. When he stops talking he rests his face on the top of her head and breathes in deeply. Fears for Anika's safety swirl in Catherine's head.

"Do you trust these people?"

"With my life. And Sonehso:wa will be there to help. He understands your care for her." Connor's earnest conviction is comforting to Catherine.

"Then I trust them too. Thank you for this. I really mean it." Catherine draws a breath, still shaky with weepy appreciation for Connor and Sonehso:wa's immediate action on her behalf. Connor leans back so he can look at Catherine. He keeps his hands on her shoulders and Catherine moves hers to the sides of his waist and then nervously lets them fall to her sides.

"I will not have someone you care about left in danger. It is the least I can do to make up for what I said to you."  His voice is earnest but Catherine shakes her head.

"Stop, Connor. I realize now how foolish I was to think that what Francisco and I had was love. You were right. I needed to be woken up."

"You are too hard on yourself." Connor squeezes her shoulders gently.

"If I hadn't married him, I never would have been in this situation, Anika would be safe and…" Catherine stops before she breaks down into tears again.

"Would she? All your talk of inheritance and becoming a pauper makes me doubt whether either of you would be safe or happy." Catherine frowns and lowers her head.

"Maybe. Maybe you're right." She sighs and lifts her head again.  "But then I wouldn't have met you, and I'm glad that I did, despite the circumstances." She quickly hugs him again and then steps away from his embrace. Connor tries not to cling too tightly to what she just said as proof of her feelings for him though he desperately wants to. Focusing on Catherine's worry for her friend, he attempts to justify how long she held onto him while they spoke and her additional hug. She is simply sad and missing her friend. But what of her final words to him? His heart is craving her affection and his mind keeps returning to Sonehso:wa's insistence that Catherine is attracted to him.

Connor goes outside to set up the smoker for the venison and the hare that are hanging frozen on the porch. He had given the last of the smoked meat in storage to Sonehso:wa for his journey. Catherine knows he will be outside for some time and she is aching for a bath so she pushes the large pot closer to the fire to warm and pours water into it from the bucket Connor always keeps filled by the door. She finds some rosemary in the storage area and drops a crushed sprig into the water to scent it. As Catherine stares at the flames, she thinks about Anika. She hopes that she is not in danger despite her mind creating every possible scenario of hurt and sorrow.

The thought of Sonehso:wa travelling for many long days and sleeping in the cold at night to deliver letters on her behalf touches her heart. For him to take a request of Connor's so seriously speaks volumes on his respect for him. Connor. Will he not stop travelling into her thoughts? When he holds her she feels better about everything, almost as if she is not quite so alone in the awful world she has found herself. It seems most dangerous to consider opening her heart to him so soon after realizing the truth about her husband. However, the more she thinks about it the more she wants to do just that. After all she has been through why shouldn't she allow him to be her comfort if he wants to? When she has needed it the most his embrace is powerful and cathartic. She isn't prepared to give herself to him completely despite what she had considered earlier; the thought of sexual intercourse no matter the man or circumstances fills her with dread and sickness, making her want to curl into a dark corner and tear at her crawling skin. _Would that ever change with him?_

Connor carefully cuts the venison and hare into long thin strips in preparation for smoking. Once he has hung the meat in the shed he starts a fire in the bottom area. He thinks about Catherine and her complicated situation. He knows they can't stay here in the cabin forever. Returning her to New York is impossible while her husband and father in law live. He has contacts in Boston and of course Davenport that he could write to if she desires to go to either place. Still, he wonders how safe she could really be based on the conversation of the men looking for her. If they would travel this far north and west to find her, could they not travel just as far again if they were to get word of her presence? Connor thinks about his village to the west of here. Would his people accept her among them? They accept him but his mother was one of them and he grew up there. It would not be the first he had heard of people joining themselves to tribal communities. Freed slaves and white men alike had taken on the lifestyle of other tribes and were adopted as one of them. But the men searching for Catherine had already voiced their suspicion of her being taken by a passing group of Haudenosaunee. Would that mean they would give up their search or would it only make them target the area tribes?

By the time he finishes with the smoke shack, the sun is setting. Down here at the level below the cliff, the shadow of night crosses over the landscape sooner than up above when the sun dips down in the west. As Connor walks back toward the cabin, he sees Catherine through the window, kneeling with her feet tucked under her and her back to the door and windows. He strides closer, watching her as she appears to be leaning over a bowl beside her. Her hair is covering her back and side but when she pulls it over her left shoulder, she is revealed to be unclothed. Connor halts, transfixed by the sight of her. The largest of her healing lash marks is distinctly visible across her back. Connor follows it down her body and his eyes linger on the curving of her hips before travelling over her legs. His arousal is urgent and demanding.

Unaware of his presence, she continues her bathing. Her arms shine wetly as she reaches her hand over her shoulder, arching her back as she stretches to wash between her shoulder blades. The light from the fireplace illuminates her skin, turning it a light coppery color and casting deeply contrasting shadows over her body. Her breasts change shape slightly as she raises her arms, their small yet full roundness illuminated by enough firelight to reveal her hardened nipples. A silvery line of water runs down the valley of her spine from the cloth she holds, disappearing into the shadow dividing the perfect curves of her buttocks. Her flat stomach moves as she breathes and Connor catches himself holding his own breath as he tries to remain undetected. Like an answer to his silent wish, Catherine rises up on her knees to wash her legs, exposing even more of her body to his sight, every movement she makes driving Connor's desire further. Returning to her seated position, Catherine turns her head and starts to run her fingers through her hair, dampening them from time to time with water from the bowl. Afraid that she will see him outside, Connor moves back from where he is standing.

He knows he cannot enter the cabin now, not while she is naked. If he knocks, she will know he saw her bathing. Somehow he is sure she would know he not only saw, but watched her for some time. He decides to simply return to the smoke shed and wait. The image of her body remains before him and his insistent desire for her refuses to lessen. He thinks of when he last saw her body so exposed, covered in bruises and cuts. Though he found her form attractive then, he felt only anger for her injuries. This time, her body appears to be nearly free of all evidence of her abuse, aside from her back. There are no dark bruises on her thighs or arms. Her breasts are perfect and unmarred by rough handling. All he had seen of her was the most exquisite display of beauty and he is left wanting more.

Though he is much farther back from the cabin, he can still just make out her figure by the fire. She puts her long sleeved fabric shirt on and then stands to pull her hide pants back on. Connor wishes he were close enough to still see her clearly but knows it would not help his state of mind at the moment. All he can think of is her naked body against his own, his hands bathing her and his mouth roving over all of her, kissing, tasting, giving. He is still fully aroused and fighting to regain control of his desire. Sternly, he reminds himself that she is not his for the taking and he cannot imagine her this way. Despite her allowing him to hold her, even seeking out his embrace, she has not given him leave to touch her intimately. If he continues to fantasize about her sexually, how can he stay objective? One overly bold physical act on his part could destroy the trust she has given him, ruin any chance he would have at actually winning her heart and guarantee he would never touch her the way he longs to.

Once she ties the lacing of her pants she moves out of sight. Connor closes his eyes and leans against a tree, counting to one hundred silently in Kanien'keha and again in English, forcing himself to breathe slowly. He counts a second time in both languages for good measure and then starts walking toward the cabin again, following the same path he had travelled before. He enters the cabin his usual way, without knocking. Catherine is in the storage area. He breathes in relief for the additional respite from her seeing the truth on his face and directs his attentions to hanging up his jacket and removing his boots. The smell of rosemary is heavy in the air, giving him an additional sensory stimulus to his already overloaded imagination. The bowl and cloth Catherine was using sit by the fire, the rosemary settled on the bottom of the bowl. Catherine comes out of the storage area with supplies in her hands for making dinner and Connor walks over to take the items from her. She is not wearing her outer shirt and this fabric one fits her body even more closely than the hide one. Her hair is wet and falls in dark waves over her shoulders. It recalls to him how she was the night he carried her here, her body lifeless and cold, her hair dripping. He tries to focus on that instead of this very alive, warm and undeniably beautiful woman standing before him.

The smell of hickory smoke is strong on Connor when he takes the things she had collected from her. He has an expression on his face that is difficult to read. He seems almost nervous around her yet he makes eye contact with her several times. Perhaps he is uncomfortable knowing that she was bathing while he was outside. Even if she had gotten rid of the water, her hair would still be wet. There is nothing to be done about that necessity; he will have to get used to it. Once Connor has taken the things from her, she brings the bowl outside and flings the bath water over the railing. She comes back inside and picks up her folded hide tunic, bringing it to the bed. Since she will be going to bed later and she would only be taking it off again, she decides to leave it off. She returns to the fireplace and sits down on Connor's left to help him cook. She picks up the mortar and pestle, bringing it onto her lap to grind some herbs. He looks over at her with that same odd expression on his face as she settles herself.

"What's bothering you?" Catherine asks him.  He remains silent for a time and she almost asks again when he responds.

"The last time I saw you with wet hair was when I first brought you here. You had been unconscious for a long time and I could barely feel your breathing even when I put my face close to yours. I was worried for your life." Catherine becomes very still, her hands slowing and then stopping at her grinding. She thinks about Connor carrying her and leaning close, his face just above her lips. She tries to imagine what Connor was thinking at the time.

"I remember you carrying me in the woods, how cold I was, how afraid… and the pain. Then it all becomes fuzzy. When I woke up, the first thing I remember is pain again and being cold, and then the fear came back." Connor looks back at her from leaning toward the fire.

"I wish I had not been so frightening to you."

"I would have been afraid of any man that night."

"What made you decide to come with me?" He waits patiently for Catherine to answer.  She stares at the floor for some time.

"There was only one of you." she whispers. Connor sits back from the fireplace and faces Catherine fully.

"You came with me because you reasoned that being raped by one man was better than being raped by three?"  He is aghast.  Catherine nods.

"Yes. I knew the cold would kill me but you wouldn't go away so I let you take me. I wondered if you might kill me after taking what you wanted of me, but I guess I was too cold and afraid to care anymore that night." Connor's face is full of incredulity.

"I cannot believe you let me near you once you woke up here, now that I know what was going through your head! I might not have been so persistent about cleaning your injuries." Catherine thinks about when he held her head in his hand and washed the cut on her lip, the terror she felt when he started bringing the cloth down her neck and her relief when he didn't resist her pushing his arm away. All she could think of at the time were his incredibly strong looking hands closing around her neck. She would have been powerless to oppose his will yet he let her push him away with one hand.  She taps the pestle against the side of the mortar in the silence between them.

"How long was I unconscious?"

"I do not know, probably close to two hours. I carried you over my shoulder for the trek up the gorge. Before I felt your breath on my face I was afraid I was carrying a body. Once I got you here and the fire going, you started to wake up after about twenty minutes.  I was relieved that I had not lost you in the journey. When I knew you were alive, I concentrated on making sure your feet had not frozen."

"Good Lord, Connor! I had no idea I was that unresponsive! You carried me like a sack of grain?" She silently digests that interesting bit and shakes her head. He could have done anything he wanted to her but his only worry was keeping her feet warm.

"It was the safest way to get you here. I wanted an arm free to stop myself if I slipped."

"That makes sense, but I just…" Catherine shakes her head.

"What is it?"  Connor is surprised when Catherine lifts her head up and pins him with her eyes.  

"Thank you for not hurting me. If you weren't the kind of person you are, you could have done anything to me."

"Catherine. I know you have not had the best experiences with men lately but there are good ones out there."

"I know. You're one of them. Sonehso:wa is another. I'm lucky you were the one to show up… that anyone showed up at all." She hesitantly reaches over and places her hand on top of Connor's where he has it resting on his knee. He lowers his gaze down from her face and stares at her small, fair hand on top of his large, dark one. The tips of her fingers just curl over his hand and he moves his thumb to lightly caress them as he looks back up to Catherine's face. She is watching his thumb move over her fingers so he turns his hand under hers to hold her hand in his and softly squeeze it. When he opens his hand she moves back to using the mortar and pestle. He wishes he had the courage to tell her his feelings for her. Instead, he returns his attention back to the food cooking in the fire.

As they eat, Connor's discomfiture seems to fade away, much to Catherine's relief. She is glad they had discussed what had happened when he had brought her here and she marvels on how differently she feels around him now. How things have changed in just a matter of days and weeks! In less than a month, her life had changed more times and more dramatically than she ever could have imagined. Truly, it still feels like some kind of twisted dream sequence. She desperately hopes that Anika has been able to escape a similar fate and is anxious for Sonehso:wa to reach Albany to send the letters.

The fire has burned low when they finish eating. Catherine is starting to feel the familiar creeping exhaustion that seems to overtake her earlier and earlier. Nagging anxiety at not knowing Anika's fate lingers at the edges of her mind.

"How long do you think it will take Sonehso:wa to reach Albany?"

"When I travel from my village to Albany on foot, it takes about two weeks. My village is a few days' travel west of the cabin, so I imagine it will be much faster on a horse from here. Maybe a week or ten days?" _Ten days!_ Catherine's anxiety level rises up further. _Ten days more of no one looking, no protection, no action, just Sonehso:wa riding east._ She feels helpless here, unable to do anything for her best friend. Her face must show what she is thinking because Connor leans closer to her and places his right hand on her right forearm, lightly sliding it up to just below her elbow. It is then that she realizes she is restlessly twirling a lock of hair between her fingers where her hands rest in her lap, as she so often does when she is preoccupied. Her hands still their movement under his touch.

"WildCat, have faith in your friend. If she is as smart and capable as you say she is, she will not have any trouble finding another place to go, if she got dismissed at all." Connor is right. She is basing all her fears on Sergio dismissing Anika to begin with, and then if he did dismiss her, not giving her a recommendation. Considering Sergio's insistence on always appearing so high and mighty to the lowly masses, the Don himself would never commit such a social blunder and risk bringing any question upon his name. Nodding her head in agreement, Catherine stares at Connor's hand on her arm. He is leaning on his left arm with his head near Catherine's and she wonders what he would do if she laid her head on his shoulder. A hug from him would feel so right but she is afraid of giving the wrong impression.  He adds to his argument on Anika's behalf.

"Once Sonehso:wa gets those letters on a boat, they will reach New York in a day. My contacts will have at least two or three days to find her before he reaches the city. He will make sure she is safe." He raises his right hand off her arm and moves it back to his right knee, palm down. When Catherine looks up at him, he is staring into the fire. Catherine tries to continue thinking that Anika has retained her position at the Martinez estate or has already found a place in another house. It is the only thing that allows her to fall asleep when she goes to bed a short time later.

Connor lies by the fire and listens to Catherine's even breathing. It has been a long time since he has lain with a woman. Dobby Carter had not hidden her attraction for him and had maintained persistent flirtation whenever he visited New York. Despite reminding her he was too busy to settle down, she continued to maneuver herself into being around him. For a woman significantly older than himself, she was very attractive and he had finally given in to her. She had been his first sexual experience but she taught him many things during those months together. Their relationship had started to fall apart when he continued to resist the idea of settling down. She started undermining the decisions he was making for the New York brotherhood and he threatened her with dismissal from the ranks after her disobedience led to the death of a recruit. He should have done it, but her skills were too valuable to the brotherhood to sacrifice. Thankfully, she backed down and their working relationship, though strained, became civil again. He had not found himself interested in anyone since; at least not until now.

Images of Catherine bathing collect in his mind and he becomes aroused again thinking about her. He imagines caressing the soft skin of her firm breasts, kissing her full lips and moving down her body with his attentions until he can almost taste her on his tongue and feel her wetness on his fingers. He wants her to desire him, to take him into her willingly and eagerly, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him in deeper. The need in his loins is unbearable and Connor rolls so his back is to Catherine, opens his pants and takes himself in hand. He feels like a lusty, hot blooded teenager as he pleasures himself, imagining Catherine vocalizing her bliss and suppressing his own groan as he climaxes into the cloth she had used to bathe earlier. He rests his head on the fur with relief after his release. Rolling onto his back to catch his breath, his erection only just starting to subside, he throws the evidence of his weak willpower into the fireplace to burn. He knows he shouldn't be thinking of her this way, as it will only complicate his interactions with her, but not satisfying his physical need seems even riskier. Every part of him needs to be in control around her so he won't frighten her off. He closes his pants over himself and pulls the blankets up, wondering if she would ever let him give her the pleasure she deserves.


	7. Day Seven

Day 7

"Come outside with me." Connor walks to the door, puts on his jacket and boots and turns back to look at Catherine. It had been a lazy morning for them both so Catherine is happy for a break in the quietude, for her thoughts had descended to dark places and she had become withdrawn, staring silently out the window from her place at the table while her tea grew cold in her hand. She gets up, dresses for outdoors and walks outside past Connor holding the door open for her. After she passes, he leans back inside and takes his quiver and bow from their place against the wall. Catherine is curious about Connor's sudden motivation until he walks out of the cabin with the weapon in his hand. A growing excitement fills her stomach as Connor buckles the quiver on his back and bends the bow against the side of his thigh, hooking the string onto the end. They walk toward the edge of the trees together.

"Maybe trying some target practice will help distract you." He offers the bow to Catherine and she takes it from him gingerly. It is surprisingly light for its size, its slender, curving span almost five feet from tip to tip. Catherine runs the tight string of sinew between her thumb and forefinger, examining where the loops on the ends hook onto the points of the bow. The narrower, carved out grip in the center of the bow is wrapped with a light colored hide twine and in two places on either side of the grip and on the arms a similar red dyed twine is wrapped as decoration. The twine on the grip shows signs of heavy use, the cords slightly discolored and shiny where Connor's hand has worn it smooth over time. On one side of the grip, a small ridge protrudes from the twine and the area just above it has also been worn to a shiny patina. A rich, honey color suffuses the grain of the wooden bow; it gleams in the sun. When Catherine touches the satiny finish, it reminds her of a piece of fine furniture that has been lovingly polished with beeswax regularly to preserve its beauty and to keep the wood soft and protected. Despite the many dings and scratches the bow carries, it has still been carefully maintained for many years. Catherine suddenly feels Connor has given her an unusual privilege by allowing her to handle an item of such great personal significance.

"This is a longbow with a heavy draw, so do not be surprised if you cannot pull it far at first. It is made for my strength. This bow is good for long distance shooting and powerful close range shots." Connor faces her, grasps the upper arm of the bow and takes Catherine's left hand in his right to guide it to the proper place in the center of the wrapped grip. He extends her arm, keeping his hand over hers. With her arm extended, her knuckles and the bow almost touch his chest.

"It can also be used as a melee weapon if anyone gets too close." He moves her hand away and turns it palm down so the bow is horizontal. Quickly, he pulls it towards him and up so that one of the bow arms crosses his neck. Catherine's eyes widen in surprise and she gasps at the unexpected violence of his demonstration.

"Hit anyone hard enough here and they will not be able to attack you because they will be trying to breathe instead. Practice it on me." A disturbing picture of Connor smashing someone in that way comes to her but she takes a deep breath and nods. He had offered to teach her and she had accepted. By doing so she had also accepted that she would have to become capable of harming another person. Maybe that had not been readily apparent to her at the time of his offer, but it is extremely so now. Connor is certainly capable of it. She looks up at him where the bow is still across his neck and takes in just how strong he is. A single strike from him would probably kill a man. Nodding again, she draws her hand back and then punches forward, bringing the bow into contact with his neck as he had shown her, his hand on hers slowing the movement so she does not actually hurt him. Despite his protection against her strike, the move disturbs Catherine enough that she lowers the bow from Connor's neck, drops her head and works to calm her horror.

"We can do this another time." Connor's voice is soft but his concern pierces into Catherine.  She looks up at Connor and his sunlit irises shift from side to side minutely as he searches into her eyes with worry.

"No! I'm fine now. I just… realized what using a weapon really means. I have to be able to hurt people, to kill people. Like you did at... at that... horrible place I was imprisoned in."

"You do not have to kill to be proficient with a weapon."

"But if it comes down to making that choice or dying… or worse, I need to be able to!"  Catherine's voice shakes with both anger and determination, yet it is starkly cut with her shame and sadness for what befell her.  Connor's brows draw together and he takes a deep breath and lets it out before speaking.  

"That may be true but my hope is that you _never_ have to."

"So is mine." Catherine closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them Connor gives her another long, searching look.

"You are sure you want to do this today?"

"Yes. I want to learn." Catherine sets her jaw and squares her shoulders.  Connor nods to her firmly and decides he will not show her any more melee or fighting moves this day. Target practice is less directly violent. He reaches to her hand and gently takes it up to raise the bow, turning the weapon to its vertical position before resuming his lesson on shooting.

"Make sure your keep your wrist flat and your hand in line with your arm. If you are not careful and you let your hand bend back, when you release the string it will hit your arm. That it painful. It will happen at some point because you will tire out,  but it is good to know why it happens from the beginning," He bends her wrist back and shows her how her arm shifts inward and touches the string. Connor lets go of her hand and moves to her left side. She lowers her arm with the bow.

"Stand with your left foot forward." Catherine raises the bow and shifts her feet. Connor stands beside her and watches her position her wrist correctly.

"Take the string with the first two fingers of your right hand." Catherine obeys and Connor reaches in front of her and adjusts her position until the string sits in the first joint of her bent fingers. He moves her thumb so it rests against the tips of her fingers.

"Try drawing the string." Catherine pulls on the string and is shocked at how difficult it is to move it more than a few inches from its undrawn state. She relaxes the draw almost immediately.

"It's so hard to draw!"

"You need to build up your strength.  Lock your left elbow, but remember to keep your wrist flat." Catherine tries again and manages to draw the bow a little farther but her arm shakes as she tries to hold the tension.

"Do not hold it too long or this practice session will be over quickly." He reaches back to his quiver and pulls out an arrow, pointing to the blue and white feathered end. "See the notched end here? This fits onto the string. The center of the shaft rests on this little ridge on the bow. Hold the bow up but do not draw." He replaces his left hand over Catherine's on the bow and steps behind her to reach around her body with the hand holding the arrow. Connor's breath ruffles her hair as he speaks and he is so close to her his warmth is distracting.

"Use your first finger to help balance the arrow on the ridge like this. It will help you place the notch on the string without dropping the arrow." He holds the arrow between his index and middle fingers on the end just behind the feathers. Catherine drops her eyes to his right hand holding the arrow, noticing the calluses on the pads of the two fingers he uses to pull on the bow string. He rests the shaft of the arrow on the bow's ridge and Catherine follows the line of the arrow to where his hand covers hers. Extending the index finger of his left hand, he uses it to balance the arrow against the bow. Catherine does the same and Connor lets go of her left hand and stands upright behind her. He slides the end of the arrow between Catherine's fingers, matching the notched end on the string and then steps over to her left side so that there is a gap between their bodies. He mimics pulling the bow.

"Squeeze the end of the arrow between your fingers so that you draw it back with the string. Look down the arrow at where you want to shoot, aim just above it and release the string." Catherine stiffens her left arm and pulls back with her right, the arrow shaft sliding between her finger and the worn section of the bow grip just above the ridge. She points the tip of the arrow at a nearby tree and it immediately falls off the ridge and her finger, the momentum pulling it from her grasp on the string and dropping it to the ground. She releases the draw.

"Oh! That isn't supposed to happen!" She cries, looking down at her feet where the arrow now lies.

"Do not worry. It happened to me all the time when I first started." He bends to retrieve the arrow and hands it to Catherine.

"You must have been but a small child when you first started."

"I was. I started seriously training with the bow when I was ten summers but I had been seeing the other hunters using them and played at it since I was a boy."

"So you have been doing this for how long?"

"A little more than twenty years now I suppose." Catherine is happy that their ages are not very far apart. His often stoic demeanor makes him appear older.

"Hmm. I have a long way to go then."

"Not so long as you would think. Set the arrow in place like I showed you." Catherine fumbles the arrow onto the bow and Connor puts his left hand over hers again. He turns her wrist slightly so the top of the bow tips to Catherine's right.

"This will help for loading the bow and until you are ready to shoot. Try shooting again. Do not worry too much about hitting anything. Just practice getting the arrow in the air for now." Catherine raises the bow and takes a deep breath as she steadies her arm. Bracing her left elbow, she grips the arrow and string tightly as she draws back, her right arm shaking with the effort. She moves her supporting finger and releases the string, sending the arrow flying in a small arc before skidding beneath the snow.

"Good, WildCat! Hmm. I guess I did not count on having to find arrows under the snow." Catherine looks up at him, stricken with concern at losing one of his arrows.

"Oh, I'm so sorry I lost it!" Catherine cries.  Connor turns from where the arrow disappeared under the snow to face her quickly when he hears her distress. He smiles and shakes his head.

"Do not be sorry. You are learning. I am the one who should worry about the details." He reaches behind his shoulder to his quiver and hands her a second arrow.

"Try again." This time she manages to get the arrow in place faster and it thunks into the bottom of a nearby tree trunk she was aiming at.

"There! I had no idea shooting an arrow would be so much work." Catherine removes her jacket and Connor retrieves the arrow from the tree and returns it to her. Her next shot misses but the arrow sticks up from the ground and Connor fetches it. Again she draws the bow but her arm shakes almost immediately. She releases anyway, missing her target. At the same moment of release, the string strikes the inside of her forearm with an audible snap, causing her to cry out and nearly drop the bow.

"Well, I can't say you didn't warn me that it hurts…" Catherine rubs her arm and pulls the sleeve up, revealing a red welt forming on her skin.

"Your muscles are not used to this kind of exercise. You do not have to keep going."

"No, I want to for a little longer if you don't mind."

"I will not stop you if you wish to continue." Connor brings her the arrow that again ended up in the ground. He enjoys the sight of her as she concentrates on trying to hit her target. The bow is almost as tall as she is and her stance when she pulls the string is very attractive to him. He can't help but admire the fit of her clothing when she is standing with her left leg in front of her right and the lines of stitching following the curves of her hips and legs so nicely. The smooth arc of the bow encircles the front of her, as if she wields a crescent moon in her hand. Her hair falls down her back and shifts in the wind, a few errant strands crossing in front of her neck. She is a beautiful warrior spirit, come to him in the flesh. Each time she draws the bow, she opens her mouth slightly and dips her head down to aim, her face determined and her eyes narrowing at her goal. With her cheeks flushed from the exercise, she is a pretty sight indeed.

Catherine manages to hit the tree once more out of several additional attempts and gain two more welts on her arm for the effort. After the third strike from the string against her arm she takes the bow in both of her hands, holding it sideways in front of her body by the curving arms and looking at it. Raising her eyes to Connor, she offers it back to him. He takes the bow from her by the grip and she picks her jacket up off of the stack of wood she had laid it on earlier.

"Show off for me. I'm tired of seeing my arrows missing the target and I don't think my arm can take any more of that string." She shrugs her jacket on but leaves the buttons undone.

"What do you want me to hit?"

"The tree I was shooting." Catherine commands, pointing.  Connor nocks an arrow, draws back on the bow and releases in one seamless motion. After struggling to perform those three movements herself, Catherine appreciates the grace of seeing it done well.

"That was too easy for you! How about the branch that crosses the gap between those two trees?" Catherine points to the branch, approximately thirty paces into the woods and a few feet above their heads. Connor takes an arrow from his quiver, draws the bow deeper, aims for slightly longer and hits the branch, releasing a shower of snow onto the ground. Catherine narrows her eyes and searches for another, more difficult target, turning in a slow circle where she stands next to Connor in the snow. Connor smiles at her determination and readies another arrow.

"There. The sapling growing from the crack of the cliff." Connor pivots his body towards where Catherine is pointing and the arrow takes the top of the slender sapling off, both the arrow and the portion of tree falling to the ground below. Catherine presses her lips together and squints into the distance, searching. Finally she turns to Connor and raises her hands from her sides.

"Impress me." He grins and looks around. Inspiration strikes him and he points with an arrow in his hand.

"The gorge. There is a fallen branch stuck to the opposite cliff wall. I will knock it down." Squinting and shading her eyes with one hand, Catherine can just make out the branch rocking in the breeze high on the cliff. Connor draws the bow deeper than ever, the wood creaking as it flexes. Taking a breath, he resets his feet and aims. In a sudden flurry of movement, he shoots and immediately grabs another arrow and shoots again, making only the smallest adjustment in his aim. His movements are so swift and practiced the second arrow seems to fall into place on its own. The first arrow knocks the branch free and the second lodges in the falling branch just before it passes out of sight below the edge of the gorge.

Catherine laughs, shaking her head and looking up at him in amused disbelief. Her hands are partly raised as if to cover her mouth but she keeps them just below her face. Connor revels in the beauty of such a genuine smile, seeing it reach her eyes for the first time. The effect transforms her attractive features into staggering radiance. She strides to the tree she had been aiming at and pulls Connor's arrow free. Returning to Connor, she taps the arrow point against his chest.

"I'm officially impressed, Connor. Thank you." She smiles and shakes her head again, letting out another small, melodic laugh of disbelief. Connor looks down into her stormy blue eyes and smiles back.

"It was my pleasure."

"I'm sorry you lost those arrows."  Catherine's smile disappears and is replaced by a sober countenance.

"It does not matter. I would shoot a hundred more into a fire to see your smile and hear you laugh again." His words are a shock of lightning to Catherine.  Her lips part slightly and her heart seems to stop beating. A sudden heat warms her face, making her look down at the ground thoroughly embarrassed, the hand holding the arrow dropping to her side and her hair falling forward around her shoulders. She raises her left hand to the side of her face and touches her bruise and the lump just below the healing skin of her lip. How could he say such a thing? She loses one of his arrows, makes him lose more himself and all he can think about is her smile? The way he had looked at her before still has her convinced that her face must be marred badly. He did not deny that he found her injuries disturbing. Her blush burns hotter with the added fuel of shame. The smile of a used, disfigured woman. He pities her; that is all.

Connor imagines scooping her hair up in both his hands and feeling the soft curls slip between his fingers to fall against his arms. He wants to see her close her eyes at the sensation and tip her head back, exposing her neck to him so he can bring his face down, brush his lips against her skin and kiss her softly. If only he could show her how loving he could be to her and bring her pleasure where she had only known pain. He wants her to be happy more than anything. Her laugh had given him a glimpse of the woman she used to be, the woman she could be again if he could just help her. Despite the collapse of everything around her, Connor is astonished at Catherine's tenacity and the way she once again has clawed her way back from the brink of giving up. Their ugly confrontation and her subsequent breakdown only two days before still stab him with guilt. Connor reaches towards Catherine and lightly touches her blushing cheek with his fingertips just above her hand. She flinches but raises her head to look at him, distress covering her face like a mask. It takes everything he has ever known of self control not to pull her close and kiss her.

Connor's gentle touch on her face sends a jolt of tingling heat down her body that only adds to Catherine's confused self-loathing, threatening to drop her to her knees. She forces herself to lift her eyes to his. How naïve she is to expect anything more than pity from him. How presumptuous… When she sees the unguarded expression on his face it is almost as if she is looking into his mind, his heart, his very soul. Catherine is shocked by what she finds in his dark, amber gaze. Desire emanates from him, stealing along his arm and flooding into her where his fingers barely touch her face. It is not purely a carnal, lustful thing, the vile creature she had seen in the malevolent eyes of her captors. If that had been all it was, she would have become desperately afraid. Instead, it is a maelstrom of profound eroticism tempered by tenderness and concern. His eyes have the look of when he smiles but his lips are soft and just barely separated. Catherine's hand starts to fall from her face under the weight of Connor's powerful emotions. He catches it and closes his fingers around it, the warmth of his touch sending tingles along her arm. His breathing is calm and deep and his eyes move from her face to her hand and back to her face. Connor slowly draws her hand up toward him. Lowering and turning his head, he presses his lips on the very bottom of her palm and then slides them down onto her wrist. There, he breathes out a slow breath of warmth and kisses her sensitive skin. Another wave of sensation tugging its way through her body brings a heat between her legs that nearly causes her to moan. Her breath hitches in her chest at the sight of her hand in his, a pale, timid bird held against the soft, warm confines of Connor's lips.

Connor couldn't help himself when she looked up to him. Her eyes were… troubled, engraved with naked sadness. For a brief moment, he thinks he has pushed too far but her wide eyes do not show fear. Connor strokes her palm with his thumb and kisses her a second time, holding her small wrist against his lips for just a few moments longer with his eyes closed. The smell of rosemary lingers on her smooth, delicate skin from her bathing the evening before. Catherine quietly inhales and he opens his eyes to look at her, her lips parting further and her breathing coming in small, silent gasps as she watches his mouth against her wrist. Connor has to fight his increasing urge to drop his bow to the snowy ground and pull her to his body but the last thing he wants to do is scare her away by being too aggressive. He knows he has already taken a huge risk so instead of pulling her closer he lowers her hand down from his face and lightly holds her fingers with his. Catherine lets out a breath and it turns to mist in the cold air. Her eyes lift from his hand holding hers to meet his gaze. They stand facing each other, close enough for him to take her in his arms even now, her eyes enormous and her lips soft and inviting.

"I should retrieve those arrows." His voice is husky and tight with restraint. Catherine nods to him and raises the arrow she still holds in her hand towards him. He takes it from her, the last two fingers of his hand brushing over her grip, and drops it into his quiver. Slowly he backs away, allowing her fingers to slide out of his grasp. Catherine lets her hand fall to her side, never relinquishing eye contact with Connor until he turns to walk into the woods toward the branch with the arrow in it. She watches as he slings his bow over his shoulder, jumps up to grab the limb of a tree, pulls himself onto it and swings around the trunk onto another branch. He traverses over to the bough and extracts the arrow with a firm tug, returning it into his quiver as well. From a crouched position, he lowers himself until he is dangling by his arms and then drops onto his feet into the snow below.

Catherine's feelings for Connor are in a tangle in her stomach and her heart is pounding in her chest. His kiss to her wrist left her feeling faint with a hungry need for more. She almost follows him when he walks toward the trail leading down the gorge but instead goes to the cliff wall and finds the broken sapling and the arrow that had reached its mark. She carries the projectile with her to the horse enclosure and pushes the point of it into a piece of wood on top of one of the wood piles. Staring at the arrow, she touches her left wrist with the fingers of her right hand, retracing the path Connor's lips had followed. The latent sensation is so insistent she is surprised that there isn't a visible mark on her skin.

Approaching the chestnut horse, she raises her hand toward him and he plods over for her attention. She backs toward a stack of wood and he follows her until he is close enough for her to climb up onto him. She rides him over to the trail and then down into the gorge, letting him wander along the riverbed and drink. Catherine twists to look upstream and spots Connor jumping across snow covered rocks to the other embankment. He reaches some bushes against the cliff face and starts to search among them for the branch. Catherine turns the horse downstream and follows the river around a bend. She considers what to do about Connor's actions. While she wants to feel more of the sensations that coursed through her body at his contact, she worries that if she encourages him, he'll want more than she can give before long. She decides to wait and see if he continues to seek out physical intimacy or if this was a single, impulsive moment.

Up ahead, a speck of blue against the white snow catches her eye. When she gets closer, it turns out to be the branch Connor was searching for. It must have bounced into the river once it was out of sight. One arrow is broken, leaving only the arrow head and a short length of the splintered shaft in the wood. The other is undamaged despite the fall, its blue and white feathers catching the light. Catherine grasps a handful of the horse's mane and leans down to lift the branch by the one arrow up to her height. She pulls the broken arrow free first and then the whole one, tossing the branch back into the river's current. Both arrows fit inside the top of her boot securely. She lets the horse continue along the river, taking advantage of the calming sound of the flowing water to sort out her thoughts.

Connor's kiss had opened her eyes to two things: his kindness is more than simple concern for helping her.  Connor obviously wants her to be aware of his attraction. It has to be why he kissed her wrist and not her mouth; maybe he had wanted to give her the opportunity to pull  away. His eyes had been so telling of his feelings though, it had been as if he were speaking aloud. The kiss had only made it twice as clear.

In addition to Connor's feelings becoming made known, Catherine realizes her body has not been deadened to sensual things as she had thought.  Somehow, the idea of allowing Connor to continue such attention to her is not so frightening once she starts comparing what her life with Francisco was like, as short as it had been. That life is over and she enjoys the sole companionship of Connor. Her husband had never caused her body to react the way it did to Connor's touch. Of course, at the time of their courtship, she had been too worried about Father's failing health to feel much of anything. Francisco had not touched her in any way that was sensual aside from a hand on the small of her back at public events or an occasional chaste kiss on her cheek when they would say goodnight. She and Anika had shared their fantasies growing up about what intimacy would be like that had excited her and made her sexually frustrated but when Francisco had not made any effort to make her feel that way she had written it of as fiction and the stuff of giggling teenage girls' imaginations. Knowing only the pain of her wedding night and of being raped had only made the concept of pleasure from a man seem even more of an impossibility. Now Connor's touch has awoken something in her that she had only dreamed of.

Two sides battle in her heart. On one, the idea of rejecting anything further, blocking this road forever and leaving to start a new life of anonymity in a city far from her past. On the other, accepting Connor's advances and being willing to face another, far different future with him. Both paths have a vast number of uncertainties and questions, risks and benefits; enough to make her head spin. How does one weigh the unknowable future when the only scale available is false and unfairly balanced?

Connor watches Catherine ride around the bend after fruitlessly searching for the branch. He was sure it would have gotten caught in the bushes but it must have hit a projection on the cliff wall that tossed it into the river. He still feels it was worth the loss just to see Catherine smile but worries about what she is thinking of him. Based solely on her body language he would like to believe that she enjoyed it more than she may have expected. Knowing what she has been through peels away the simplicity of body language alone. This woman is still fighting. Was she just too shocked at his brazen act to move? At the moment he can firmly say that he will not do such a reckless thing again but he fears that when he sees her next his resolve will weaken. There is no way to take his kiss back now that it is done, so he hopes that she will not think of him as overly bold and lustful, only seeking sexual satisfaction. He will not deny his interest in her if she asks him but he fears her rejection now that he has exposed himself in this way. Connor wonders if he has made a grievous mistake and softly swears in his language, seeing no value to getting truly upset, for if he has ruined everything it is of his own doing.

Connor crosses the river again and climbs back up to the upper level to check on the smoke shack. On his way, he strains to see Catherine but she is beyond his view. At the shack he checks on the venison and adjusts the fire to get it burning hot again and shuts the door. He leans against it on one arm, rubbing his forehead with his other hand. His heart is pounding as he berates himself silently over and over for losing so much control over his feelings for Catherine. He wanders over to where they were shooting together and paces around the area, rehashing every moment and picking it to pieces before heading back to the cabin to wait for Catherine to come back.

Catherine returns to the enclosure to leave the chestnut and finds that Connor has discovered the arrow she had left behind earlier. A wide swath of snow has been pushed aside beyond the tree she had been using as her target. Maybe he found her lost arrow after all. Inside the cabin, he is sitting in front of the fire fletching new arrows. He lifts his head and watches her as she approaches his side. His eyes are no longer so open to his heart; instead, they seem worried. She kneels down beside him without taking off her jacket or boots.

"Look what I found." She moves her hand out from behind her back and holds out the arrow and the broken piece toward him.

"Where…?" He takes the broken piece from her hand and looks inquisitively at her. She places the whole arrow next to the others he has laid out on the hearth.

"I found the branch on the edge of the river. The feathers were catching the light like a beacon." Her eyes are shining and she has a small smile showing. She seems satisfied with herself for finding the arrows. Connor has to resist his urge to kiss her again. Fortunately she gets up at that moment to take her boots and jacket off. He considers apologizing for his actions earlier but then decides that it isn't worth bringing up and spoiling this moment with awkwardness. She seems to have moved past his earlier folly so he will do his best to do so as well.

Catherine sits down on the bear fur on the other side of Connor's supplies that he has laid out on a scrap of hide beside him. There are a few arrow heads, some straight wooden arrow shafts, a collection of bluejay feathers that have been split carefully in half lengthwise down the stiff middle spine and a loop of separated sinew fibers soaking in water. Catherine watches Connor as he returns to fletching his arrows. His large hands hold the split feathers delicately as he positions them against the arrow ends. He wraps one of the thin sinew fibers around the arrow and over the feathers, carefully separating portions of each feather with the tips of his fingers as he wraps to ensure even spacing of the sinew and correct line of each feather. Catherine bends her knees up and wraps her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. Her eyes are drawn to Connor's profile and then to his lips. They are soft and full and had given her such unexpected feelings when he had kissed her wrist. _How can I look at them the same way ever again? How can I look at Connor the same?_ Everything he says and does will appear laced with an alternate meaning now.

Her eyes are tired and a building soreness in her right arm and shoulder are stiffening her up. After her second yawn, Connor looks over at her from smoothing the feather segments together with his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Connor. I don't mean to be distracting. I'm just so tired lately. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Do you feel ill?"

"Not really. Sometimes I feel nauseated but it always passes. I must have a chill, that's all." A momentary sense of foreboding washes over her, making her rub her legs with her hands. It's probably just stress. Worries about Anika are constantly floating around in the back of her mind. Her thoughts always seem to circle around to her eventually, regardless of what she started off thinking about. She pictures Sonehso:wa riding toward her, slowly closing the vast distance between them.

Connor watches Catherine as she stares into the fireplace, her elbows on either side of her bent up knees and her hands stacked on top of them with her chin resting on her hands. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen her watching him for a long time while he worked. She appears preoccupied but he cannot really blame her for it. He did it to her, after all. When she closes her eyes, he turns his attention fully back to his arrows.

Catherine wonders what Anika will think of her shooting a bow. She will probably laugh at her and make her feel silly and then want to learn too. What if she had had a bow that fateful day outside the city? Her heart beats faster as she pictures herself holding the bow while on her horse the day she had been taken. A fantasy of bashing the bow against the neck of the man who had dragged her off the horse starts to form in her mind. It had been the man with the whip who had pulled her down and raped her first that day. The daydream grows wings and takes flight. Before she can stop it, she is picturing him on the ground at her feet, clutching his throat and gasping while she loads an arrow onto the bow. She would not have to be a good shot if he were only as far away as her feet… Could she have done it? Connor would have. Catherine thinks about the first time Connor was close to her, the blood splashed across his chest and arms and the bodies he had left in his wake. It was not the first time he had killed men.

Remembering the night Connor found her, Catherine relives waking up after being whipped into unconsciousness by her captor. The sounds of a scuffle had come to her first as the rushing noise filling her ears abated. Her eyes were open but she could only see blackness for a few moments before her vision cleared. The strange hatchet was within her view below her. When she raised her head, an unfamiliar man was in the room fighting with her tormentor. The sudden knowledge that this was another chance to escape had filled her so quickly that her whole body jerked where it hung. With her clarity came a surge of adrenaline powerful enough to drive away her pain. The tomahawk was so close to her fingers she could almost reach it. She strained and stretched but only managed to graze the surface of the handle with her fingernails. Shifting her feet over, she pressed the handle between them and slowly lifted the weapon by flexing her feet upward until she could hook her fingers through the blade. Once it was in her hand she became frenzied with panic that she would be caught trying to escape.

Cutting the rope above her right hand seemed risky after her first swing went wide and the hatchet had almost slipped from her grip from her own blood drenching the handle. Her body spun from her wild swing with the hatchet and as she turned towards the wall the rope tied to the hook filled her vision. Surging toward it, her feet slipped in the pool of blood on the floor as she hacked at the hook in the wall. The swing missed and scratched the wall instead. Catherine had taken a deep breath then and attempted to calm her mind. She could still hear fighting behind her. The sound of the whip being used fueled her panic but also gave her further reason to succeed in escaping. She pulled against the rope around her wrist and steadied herself before making a second attempt at cutting the rope. It seemed like only every fourth or fifth swing hit the rope and every time she lifted the hatchet it grew heavier in her hand.

She had fallen to the floor in a heap when the rope finally snapped. Climbing to her feet, she stumbled away without looking back. Out in the other room, one of the other two men lay slumped with his body partially held up against the table. His face had a single dark vertical line down the middle of it. Blood covered the entire lower half of his face and was still dripping off the side of his body where it pooled on the floor. By that point, Catherine felt as if she were viewing the world through fogged glass. Nothing seemed real anymore and so she moved numbly past the man, stepping over him, not even noticing that her toes touched the pool of blood next to the body. Outside was another dead man, lying face down in an enormous lake of blood. So much blood… In a haze, she had lurched toward the forest. Pain had started to gnaw on the edges of her waning surge of energy. By the time she reached the leafy hill every other step was an agony. She fell to her knees and crawled when she could no longer walk. A large rock was in sight and all she had wanted was to hide. No matter who survived the fight she had run from she did not want to face the victor.

"WildCat! Catherine, what is wrong?" Connor's voice intrudes into her flashback. Catherine raises her head from her knees and takes in Connor's concerned face. His right hand hovers near her shoulder. A half fletched arrow sits on the hide on top of all his materials as if discarded in a hurry. It is then that she realizes he is kneeling in front of her. She heaves a breath and he lowers his hand to her arm.  "You are trembling! Were you dreaming?"

"I was… remembering…" Catherine murmurs.  Connor closes his eyes and drops his head. He thinks what a fool he is. When he had kissed her, his motives had been genuinely to give her pleasure but can he really blame her for only being able to associate intimacy with pain and being forced? Had she experienced her sexual abuse all over again while he sat right next to her, the trigger for her pain?

"This is my fault. I should not have done what I did." he takes his hand from her arm but Catherine interrupts him.

"No! I wanted to learn to use weapons. I won't stop just because it dredges up my memories!" Connor raises his head, shocked at her words. He had been expecting her to denounce him for kissing her.

"I will not make you stop if you do not wish it." His face relaxes and Catherine shakes her head.

"I don't want to be helpless anymore. I was... wondering if I would be able to actually kill a person. I know you said that I wouldn't necessarily have to do anything so extreme but it made me think of that day… the day I was captured. I pictured killing the man with the whip. In my mind, I hesitated, but you wouldn't have. And then I thought of the first time I saw you. You had blood all over your jacket and I knew you'd killed those men."

"I have killed a lot of men over the years. It comes with fighting a war, with fighting for something that is more important than anything else. I am not proud of it. It just has to be that way when very few are fighting for the same thing."

"What _are_ you fighting for, Connor?" He considers telling her about the Brotherhood, explaining that his motivations go far beyond any war in recent history and will continue longer than he imagines either of them will live.  Instead, he settles for the simplest truth.

"Freedom. True freedom, where none have to suffer under the hands of tyranny and oppression. To live the way you want to, without being forced into slavery or driven from your lands."

"Your village… is that why you've chosen this fight?"

"Part of it. But there is so much more than that. I am of two worlds and at the same time belong to neither of them. If I fight too hard for one I will destroy the other. I carry that burden alone even when I join the larger battle that did not end with the revolution against Britain's crown. We have many more wars to fight still before we reach our goal." Catherine raises her eyebrows.

"We?"  Her query digs into the things he does not wish to explain.  Connor takes a deep breath and levels his gaze at her.

"My contacts from the war. I have many throughout New York, Boston and beyond. They are not mere contacts.  I am... their leader."

"Why are you not with them now, leading them?"

"We are not always in open conflict. There are often long periods where we wait, gather information, form plans and wait longer for the right moment to strike. Winter stalls everyone's plans, even our enemies'. I travel throughout the year between my village, here and the cities where my contacts are based. I am devoted to our cause but I will not turn my back completely on my people. The cost would be too great. But if I am needed, my contacts know how to find me." Catherine considers this new facet of the man who sits before her. _So he is a leader of a group of people who fight for freedom even after the war for freedom in this land is over. Is he some kind of rebel militant? He speaks of continued warfare, but against who, or what? If I were to stay with him, what will happen when the snow is gone and he returns to his duties far from here?_ So many questions fill her mind, yet she has no answer for any of them. At least she understands more of why he trusts his contacts with his life. If they fight together for a unified cause and he is their leader, it makes so much more sense. She watches him as he feeds the fire. The cabin is growing darker in the gloaming of the evening. Something Connor had said days earlier jumps to the front of her mind.

"Your father. You said he was the leader of a faction that opposed you. That he died for what he believed. Did you fight against him?" Connor knows he can no longer hide the truth from her.

"Yes. His death is one that I am not proud of."  Connor's heart sinks as horror fills Catherine's features.

"You killed him? Your own father!"

"Yes." Catherine draws back from Connor in shock, shaking her head. Connor sighs and does not lower his gaze from her. He has dodged her scorn once for kissing her, it seems, only to bring it back upon him for divulging the truth of his past.  He struggles to find the words to explain.  

"You must try to understand my motives, WildCat. His motives. We could never have reconciled. We both wanted to but it was contrary to everything either of us believed in. He would not change his ways; I would not change mine. I could not change them without sacrificing everything I stood for. Do you think I have not wished it were different? I am not as callous as that but I understand when I have to let go of wishful thinking when it is not possible to make it a reality." Catherine is silent as she digests what Connor has told her. Her own husband and father in law tried to kill her for money. She does not deny that since her realization of that, she harbors murderous anger towards them, especially Sergio. _If I were to be given the opportunity to snuff out his life, would I take it? It would not be without cause or justification._ Mercy would only give him the chance to harm her again. Connor's expression is grave when she dares to look at him.  She reaches in towards her newfound understanding of greed and injustice and uses it to try to understand.

"If you hadn't killed him... would he have taken your life? If not then, later?"

"Without question." he answers evenly.  His voice is deep and hard, for it is clear they are walking among his darkest memories.  Catherine nods and sits forward again, bending her legs to the side and leaning on her right hand.

"If you were to tell me this two months ago... even two weeks ago, I would consider what you did unforgivable. It's still difficult to know but I accept it. There is one thing you can thank my husband and father in law for if you ever meet them."

"I would not thank them."  Anger blossoms on Connor's face and he narrows his eyes.  Catherine's heart jumps in her chest and she immediately feels the need to appease him.

"Not for bringing me to harm, no! But their duplicity gave me a first-hand understanding of greed and corruption. If that's how you view your father, then I recognize why you had to kill him." Connor stares at her, astounded at her unexpected empathy. Catherine looks up at him, taking in his raised eyebrows and open mouth. "You seem surprised." 

"I am."

"I've learned the hard way what happens when something feels wrong and nothing is said or done about it. I told you that I'd hoped things would change between Francisco and me after we were married. I'd worried about it for months but I never brought it up to my father, the one person who loved me most in this world. It would have broken his heart to think he would be leaving me unprotected. So I said nothing in order to give a dying man some peace. Look what I have reaped for my folly! At least you didn't stand by and let your father defeat you just so you wouldn't have killed him. Is it any better for a father to execute his own son instead?  I think not, Connor."

"I do not triumph with his loss, Catherine. Every day I see him in what I think, how I act and the things I do. Each time, it is a reminder that I destroyed that part of me with my own blade." Connor's face is creased with the strain of recounting what his decision had done to him. His jaw is set and his shoulders are hunched with strain. He sits back with a harsh exhale, bends his arm and rests his right elbow on his knee.  Bowing his head, he rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. Catherine cannot imagine what it must have been like for him or how he has dealt with it since. If only the right decision were easy to make every time.

With fear curling around her stomach but compelled by a powerful need to both give and take comfort from amid their strange, mutual pain, Catherine tucks her feet under her body and sits forward slightly. Connor watches her movements from under his brow. Slowly, she reaches to the side of his face with her right hand and touches his angled cheek with one finger before opening her palm against his warm skin. She whispers to him.

"You cannot change your past and neither can I, no matter how much we wish to do so." He lifts his head off his hand and presses it into her touch. Closing his eyes, he turns his face into her arm and breathes deeply. Catherine is not surprised when he raises his left hand and covers hers on his face. They sit together, unmoving as gargoyles, until Connor slides his hand down Catherine's arm, sending shivers down it. She is unsure if it is from fear or enjoyment. He stops at her elbow and softly drags his hand back up to her wrist. When he starts to repeat the motion, Catherine allows him to draw her towards him. Shifting his feet, he makes room for her to sit between his knees. She settles onto her left hip, moving her hand to Connor's neck and resting her head on his chest. He pulls her closer with his right hand on her waist and his left sliding along her right arm until it rests just below her shoulder. He kisses the top of her head and Catherine closes her eyes, wondering what she has just gotten herself into now that she has decided to stay with him.


	8. Sonehso:wa

Sonehso:wa

The cloudy setting sun casts long, muted shadows through the trees as Sonehso:wa rides through the forest away from the cabin. The snow had tapered off only recently, leaving the world cloaked in freshness and silence, not even the horse's hooves making any sound other than the occasional squeak as he crosses over harder ground below. The clearing in the trees long behind him still fills his mind. It was the ruin of the cabin Ratonhnhake:ton had described to him when he had told him of the day he had fought Catherine's captors. A stale char had permeated the wind there, belying the serenity of the untouched expanse of snow within the unnatural opening in the forest. Only the blackened branches above gave evidence of the gruesome defilement hidden beneath the snow.

The sky above the trees slowly deepens into blackness, the clouds dissipating and revealing a clear late winter night split by a swath of fresh washed stars spanning the reaches of his view. Sonehso:wa lowers his head from the stripe of dense white millions and exhales a breath of mist that passes beside his face and blows away behind him. He had no idea he would end up on a trip of this magnitude before he had decided to visit his friend. The Clan Mother will be irritated with him for being gone so long without her blessing when he finally returns to the village. He grins and shakes his head, guiding his horse along the trail he follows. Will he ever grow out of being the direct target of that ancient woman's motherly scoldings? Most likely not. She will probably outlive him, too. Maybe it is a good thing Ratonhnhake:ton sent him on this trip; the Clan Mother has a special fondness for him that Sonehso:wa knows he will never be the recipient of but maybe this time he will benefit from it for once. If the man defends him, that is.

The moon is halfway across the night sky before he decides to camp. Restless excitement had given him the impetus to travel long past his usual stopping point. He had interacted with white men before but he had never seen any real settlement of theirs. The prospect of seeing a larger gathering of people had captivated his interest, not only to help Ratonhnhake:ton, but for the adventure. At the same time, a growing sense of unease from living in the cabin with his friend and his woman, even for the short time he had been there, had added to his urgency when he had suggested Ratonhnhake:ton send him instead. There is something unnerving about how little he can hear the sounds of the night when enclosed in such dense walls. How does anyone live like that? He looks around as he sits by his small camp fire. This is how it should be; the cold crispness of the wind against his face, the air filling his nose with the scents of the fire, a roasting hare and the subtle sweet tang of pine and ice and the sounds of the forest speaking to him as everything in it waits out the night.

The days are reasonably warm when the sun shines through the trees. Three days of riding, and Sonehso:wa has encountered no other people, though more trails running through the trees crisscross his path than before. Some even have evidence of use. A small, partially collapsed cabin had been the only structure he had seen and that was hours behind him. A break in the forest appears to his left ahead of him and the trail seems to curve toward it. When he reaches the edge of the forest, he stops his horse and surveys the view. A large swath of the forest is gone, a few old stumps dotting the very edges before an enormous expanse of emptiness is laid out before him. Broken stalks of harvested corn pierce the snow cover like oversized, disarticulated spider legs, running in hundreds of nearly straight rows across the rolling hills. A large house sits atop of one of the farther hills, smoke rising from its stone chimney. Sonehso:wa follows the trail, skirting the stacked stone-walled border of the field as he does, keeping an eye out for people. The farm passes out of sight quickly once he is past the fields and back in the woods again.

The trail widens on the fifth day after passing a few more scattered farms and homesteads and merges into a hard packed dirt road on the sixth, ruts on each side filled with churned up mud and icy puddles with a ridge of spattered and horse trodden snow running down the middle. Sonehso:wa follows the south-easterly direction of the road. He has to steer his horse into the snow beside the road as a man in a two wheeled cart pulled by a brown and white horse drives north. The man looks at him and nods as he passes but they do not exchange words. As far as he can see towards the east, fields flank the road, the boundaries marked by more low, stacked stone walls. In some of the fields cattle move lethargically while a few scattered horses paw at the snow to browse on the dead tips of buried grass. On the west side of the road the forest retreats in places, revealing only a few fields cleared and even fewer homesteads. The area is desolate and almost empty of game. The farther into settled areas he travels, the more he has to rely on the smoked meat Ratonhnhake:ton had given him for food. He checks his bow frequently on his back in case a winter hare or another edible creature crosses his path.

Sonehso:wa knows he is nearing the outskirts of Albany when the fields become smaller and the homesteads are much closer together. A few people are scattered along the road riding horses, walking or driving carriages. After almost eight long days of travel he feels he has made good time without taxing the horse but he will be glad of a rest. The dappled grey has proven himself a sturdy mount but traveling for so far and for so many consecutive days is tiring for even the most conditioned horses. The single road comes to a large intersection, the path he wants to follow curving around a large hill. As he rounds the hill, the village of Albany comes into sight. A collection of buildings are jumbled together along what must be the river Ratonhnhake:ton says has the boat that will carry his letters.

People travel along the roads, some heading into the city while most are leaving. The streets are crowded despite the gathering dusk. Sonehso:wa becomes the subject of scrutiny by the people surrounding him. He has experienced strange looks and sometimes outright hostility from white people before so he isn't surprised that his presence is of interest to the people of this place. Keeping his horse at a steady walk, he tries to maintain a neutral expression on his face. It is difficult when he knows he is being stared at. Small children point at him until mothers scold them for being rude. Some people cross to the other side of the road, eyeing his weapons. A few reach for weapons of their own: a knife, a pistol, a spade. Others are not so openly hostile. Many do not acknowledge his passing, even with eye contact. Rarer still are the ones who hail him in a friendly way, tipping their hats or calling out a greeting. Sonehso:wa responds to those with a nod of his head.

As he nears the disorderly collection of buildings pressed together in clumps of three or four with narrow alleyways between them, many sounds and smells fill the air and confuse his senses. An almost constant rushing babble of voices and slamming doors, dogs barking and horses' hooves clattering on the muddy streets are interwoven with the music of fiddles and singing drifting from the buildings and surrounding streets. Food cooking and the smell of refuse mingle in an unpleasant combination, making him grateful for the cold weather muting the latter. Livestock and unattended children wander the streets, adding to the general cacophony and sense of movement the place carries.

Sonehso:wa passes through the muddy streets slowly, scanning the buildings carefully for the right sign and finally locates the general store in the center of the town. He dismounts, tossing the reins over a fence post. Untying his bag from the back of the horse, he catches a few sideways glances from the citizens of the area. Shrugging his shoulders in amused apathy at their thinly veiled interest, he approaches the door. Inside, there are two people haggling with the man behind the counter so while he waits for the last customer to leave, Sonehso:wa looks around the store. There are barrels full of grains, sacks of various root vegetables, shelves with boxes of ammunition beside leather gloves, jars of honey and jugs of alcohol. Knives of different sizes and materials are displayed alongside woodsman's axes and other tools. A wagon wheel leans against the wall in one place. For such a small place there are more things stacked, piled or lining shelves than Sonehso:wa can identify in a single glance. Behind the counter a door stands partially open, revealing a back room with more barrels, crates and boxes filling the space with orderly chaos.

The last customer finishes purchasing his things and leaves and Sonehso:wa approaches the man behind the counter. He is a tall man with a large stomach protruding over his belt and a full beard covering his face. His eyes are brown and his hair is dark with some graying at the temples and the sides of his beard.

"Are you the man called Isaac Young?" Sonehso:wa asks.  The shopkeeper cheerily smiles and raises both his hands up from the counter.

"Indeed I am. How can I help you?"

"I come representing Connor." Sonehso:wa drags the triangular buckle out from under his beaded belt with his thumb. The shopkeeper takes one glance at it, looks around and then walks out from behind the counter to bar the door.

"It's best we don't get interrupted then. What does he need?"

"I have some messages that need to be sent to New York. He said you can arrange for that to happen."

"I can, yes. How many?"

"Two. And they are urgent."

"Aren't they always?" He chuckles. Sonehso:wa produces the letters from his bag and the man looks at the addresses before stepping back behind the counter.

"Connor wishes for you to use the money he keeps with you for this and to supply the rest of my journey." Isaac pulls a stack of papers from under his counter and runs his finger down the left side of the top sheet. He stops on one item and slides his finger across the page. Tapping the sheet with his finger, he looks up at Sonehso:wa.

"A ship is leaving tonight for New York. If you will excuse me, I have to leave now to get them on it. Wait for me at the tavern up the street and we will arrange for the rest of things when I get back." Sonehso:wa nods and the men exit the store. Isaac locks the door behind him.

"What's your name, son?"

"Sonehso:wa."

"Alright, Sonehso:wa, I'll not be long. The tavern is just up the street a piece. You can't miss it." He turns and quickly starts walking toward the river with Connor's letters in his hand.

Sonehso:wa takes the reins of his horse and walks up the hill in the direction Isaac had pointed. The tavern is easy to locate due to the sounds of music and laughter coming from the brightly lit windows and often opening door. Sonehso:wa ties his horse with the others outside and approaches the door. When he opens it, the place is packed with people sitting at tables, most of them men, with a few women moving among the tables with plates of food and large mugs filled with a foaming drink in their hands. A counter runs along the wall to the left with bar stools lined up along it. Each one is occupied by a patron. A giant of a man stands on one side of the counter with his arms crossed and several weapons dangling from his body. He watches Sonehso:wa where he stands in the doorway.

Conversation and laughter come in waves of varying volumes depending how many men occupy the tables he passes. Three men sit in the corner playing instruments, their music adding to the din. Sonehso:wa sweeps his eyes over the room as he moves to take an empty seat near the back as a harried looking serving girl who appears to be in her very early twenties approaches him. A lock of wavy brown hair has fallen free of her close fitting bonnet and is resting on her ample bosom that is far more exposed than the other women's he had seen outside. A man swats at the back of her skirts, shouting a bawdy invitation as she passes and she deftly blocks his hand with her arm. The other men at the table loudly voice their disappointment in support of their snubbed friend. Throwing an acidic glare over her shoulder, she reaches the table where Sonehso:wa watches the scene with a measure of horror at the open lewdness on display. He is not opposed to a little fun with a pretty girl but only when it can be done in private. Resting one hand on the table and the other on her hip, she lowers her face to look at him. Aside from her prominently displayed bosom, her blue eyes are her most striking feature. She isn't the prettiest girl Sonehso:wa has ever seen but she is by no means ugly.

"Do ya want anythin' darlin'? We got some fresh kegs of ale in this afternoon and it's flowin' freely tonight, I tell ya."

"Not right now. I am waiting for someone." The girl brushes her loose strand of hair back and starts to walk away.

"Suit yourself." She wades back through the establishment, avoiding a second attempt by the same man to make contact with her backside. Some time passes before Isaac enters the place. The volume and intoxication has increased steadily in the tavern and Isaac sidesteps as a man lurches past him to vomit on the ground outside accompanied by a raucous cheer from the patrons. He spots Sonehso:wa through the haze of pipe smoke and joins him at the table. The same serving woman crosses the room to see if Isaac is interested in ordering anything. The drunk who had harassed her earlier stands up and wraps his arms around her waist, dragging her onto his lap as he sits. She protests with a shriek and Sonehso:wa stands up, reaching for the knife on his chest. Isaac jumps to his feet, moving faster than most overweight, middle aged men are capable of and pushes him back down into the chair with a hand on his shoulder.

"Sit down, son." He turns to face the counter and shakes his head at the enormous man who has started walking toward them, hefting a sizeable cudgel in his grip. The man grimaces and returns to his post. "You're quite like Connor, aren't you? Quick to defend… Christie knows her way around drunks. Leave it. Unless you want to start a brawl bigger than you can handle and spend the rest of the night in the clink with a cracked skull." Sonehso:wa nods and crosses his arms on the table. Isaac sits down as Christie disentangles herself from the clutches of the drunk after letting him kiss her neck and paw at the front of her dress for a moment. She is out of breath when she reaches the table.

"Mr. Young, been a while since ya been in here, darlin'." She tilts her head toward Sonehso:wa. "This a new friend? Not much of a drinker, is he?" Isaac laughs and slaps his hand on the table.

"I don't know, Christie. I just met him." He faces Sonehso:wa.  "Why don't we get him a pint and see what happens?"

Christie laughs and Isaac fills her in on Sonehso:wa a bit.

"Sonehso:wa here was keen to defend your honor just half a minute ago but I saved him from getting his teeth knocked out of his pretty face by this lot." He gestures with his thumb toward the table she had just extricated herself from.

"In that case, the pint's on the house, honey." She flashes a smile at Sonehso:wa and then bursts into laughter. She rests her hands on the table and leans toward him, as if she is about to whisper a secret. Her barely contained cleavage threatens to spill out of her corset and Sonehso:wa eyes it with interest, hoping it will.

"Ol' Granger thinks he's the most desirable man in Albany. It only gets worse the more he drinks. He's harmless. Don't you worry 'bout me, darlin'! Tis a shame I don't get more customers as brave and handsome as you to protect me." She reaches a hand out and traces a finger over Sonehso:wa's braceleted wrist. Isaac clears his throat and interjects before she arrives at the back of Sonehso:wa's hand.

"That's enough, now, you'll start a riot for sure if you make these boys any more jealous." He scolds.  Christie stands up and sashays away, looking over her shoulder at Sonehso:wa with a deviant smile on her face. When she is out of earshot, Sonehso:wa faces Isaac.

"Is she a prostitute?" For a moment, there is silence and then Isaac shakes his head and laughs uproariously, drawing more than a few eyes to their table.

"No, no. God, no! Haven't you been to a tavern before? You sure are a green one, aren't you?" His laughter settles down when Sonehso:wa's face remains skeptical and somewhat bewildered.  "Nevermind, son."

Sonehso:wa is not quite sure what to make of this jovial man who has repeatedly referred to him as his son despite bearing no clan ties to him. Connor trusts him, and he obviously has done a lot of business with him. Christie returns with a tankard of that foaming beverage in each hand. She lowers the mugs to the table in front of the men and then gestures at the pint in front of Sonehso:wa.

"Bottoms up! Let me see you drink!" Sonehso:wa picks up the tankard and smells it, eliciting a peal of laughter from Christie. "It ain't poison, sweetheart!" She waves her hand impatiently until Sonehso:wa raises the mug to his mouth and takes a sip.

"D'you like it?" Sonehso:wa puts the mug back on the table and looks up at her smiling face.

"It is not what I was expecting." Christie laughs and reaches across to the ale and snatches it up before pushing her other hand against his chest, forcing him back against the chair. She smirks in satisfaction and plops sideways onto his lap, leaning backward and giggling until Sonehso:wa is forced to put his hand on her back to keep her from falling off the other side, tankard and all.

"Christie, you seem like a girl who likes to have fun but I am not here to…"

"Shhh. Drink." She raises the mug to his mouth and tilts it. Sonehso:wa quickly stops her with his hand before ale pours down the front of him. His eyes dart over to Isaac, only to find him red-faced with mirth, shaking his head and slapping his knee as he is nearly doubled over laughing. He raises his mug in salute to Sonehso:wa and takes a long drink.

"Come on, I brought it all the way over here just for ya!" Christie pleads, pouting out her bottom lip at him.  Sonehso:wa complies as she tilts the mug against the resistance of his hand, doing his best to drink without tasting it or choking. He stops her again when some of it starts to run down the side of his chin. She moves the mug away and wipes his chin with her hand.  "That's better." Christie smirks again and looks over to Isaac as his laughter dies down.

"Alright, boy, I can see you want to get down to business. Christie, leave off, you've had your fun at his expense." Christie promptly obeys, setting the mug down on the table and getting up off of Sonehso:wa. She rounds the table and leans down to kiss Isaac's forehead and Sonehso:wa wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, grimacing at the lingering bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

"Sorry, Uncle Isaac. Don't be mad at me." Isaac harrumphs and chucks her chin, sending her off to go about her work elsewhere.

"She is the daughter of your brother?" Sonehso:wa asks, aghast that he was dandling this man's niece on his lap and thinking about her breasts just a moment ago while she force fed him the most vile drink he has ever tasted. He feels even worse when he remembers his earlier query.

"My sister's daughter, actually. This isn't the job I would have wanted her to have but she seems to have taken a shine to it. Besides, if anyone tries to go too far with her, Big Owen there will work him over good. Everyone knows that and generally respects the rules."

"Does she always make people drink like that?"

"Only when she thinks she can get away with it. I may have let it go a little far, but no harm done, right? I think she likes you." Sonehso:wa looks down at the half empty tankard of ale before him on the table and shrugs his shoulders.

"She is very… persuasive." Sonehso:wa admits.  Isaac chuckles and takes another long swallow of his ale.

"That she is, my boy! So. The letters are on their way as we speak; that's good news for you. What else do you need for your travels?"

"I am continuing on to New York. I will need money and supplies for the trip and for when I arrive."

"Yes, of course. We can take care of that in the morning when I reopen the store. Do you have a room for tonight?"

"Is there a place I can camp?"

"Camp! Don't be foolish, you can stay at my house. My wife cooks the best food in all of Albany. Listen. Any friend of Connor's is a friend of mine. Understand? Shall we be off then?" Isaac finishes his ale and Sonehso:wa stands, shouldering his bag. He follows Isaac as he weaves between tables towards the counter. Christie meets them there and leans back between the men, her elbows against the bar, smiling up at Sonehso:wa. Isaac digs in a pocket and gives her a few coins for the ale and she frowns.

"I said it was on the house!" She slides the coins back across the bar to her uncle and Sonehso:wa smiles at her pout. He is feeling somewhat light headed and euphoric, similar to when he and some of the other young men had shared rum from one of the recent trades with some white settlers. Wanting to get Christie back for what she put him through, he leans down and kisses her on her pouting mouth. Before she can react, he stands tall again and smiles widely at her.

"That was the most disgusting drink I have ever had. But I thank you for bringing it to me." Sonehso:wa blinks his eyes a few times after he finishes speaking.  Christie gasps and then laughs.

"Must have liked it more than ya' admit if yer kissin' me for it!" Isaac takes Sonehso:wa by the elbow and starts dragging him away from the bar toward the door.

"Alright, that's enough, or I'll set Big Owen on you. Did you forget that she's my neice?" Sonehso:wa allows himself to be pulled backwards while still grinning at Christie and she waggles her fingers at him. Once they are outside, Isaac releases Sonehso:wa's arm.

"You said she likes me."  It's more of an effort to speak clearly than Sonehso:wa likes.  

"Christ our Savior! You're drunk. On half an ale. Even Connor can hold his liquor better than you and that ain't sayin' much! I should have known better." Isaac starts walking down the hill from the tavern and Sonehso:wa hastily unties the reins of his horse and follows him.

"Ratonhn… Connor drinks that… ale?" The cold air is bracing and his head feels clearer now that he isn't smothered in the close, smoky staleness of the tavern.

"No, he's more of a rum and whiskey man, just like a blasted sailor but only a quarter as tolerant." Isaac shakes his head and picks up his pace.

"My house isn't far from here. Get a good meal in and you'll feel yourself again." Sonehso:wa walks with Isaac, leading his horse through the city.

They pass into a narrow side street and arrive at a small white wooden house. Isaac opens a gate on the side and Sonehso:wa takes the bridle and his bedroll off the horse, turning him loose in the enclosed space. The grey wanders over to a pile of hay and starts grazing on it. Isaac shuts the gate and walks to the front door of the house. He opens the door and calls out to his wife.

"Mrs. Young, we have a guest tonight! One of Connor's Indian friends." An ample woman with green eyes and light brown hair bustles out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. A small child peeks out from behind the door frame and stares at Sonehso:wa.

"Well come in, then, come in. Don't make him stay out in the cold all night! Dinner's just ready now." She herds them indoors and shoos them into the dining room.  Isaac makes hasty introductions.

"This is my wife, Bethany. And the little mite in the kitchen is Ethan. Mrs. Young, this is Sonehso:wa."

"Pleased to meet you, my dear."  Bethany pats his shoulder and smiles in a motherly way but then turns and bustles off to the kitchen. Isaac takes off his jacket and holds out his hand for Sonehso:wa's wrap. He takes the wrap, bridle, bedroll and bag from Sonehso:wa in a jumble and carries it all back into the hall. Bethany returns from the kitchen with a giant pan in her hands containing a roasted chicken surrounded by potatoes and onions. She thumps the pan onto the table and turns to the child clinging to her skirts.

"Ethan, get me the serving fork and carving knife from the kitchen." The child scurries into the kitchen, casting a glance over his shoulder at Sonehso:wa again. She looks up at Sonehso:wa with an expectant expression on her face.

"Where are you from, now?"

"North and west of here." Sonehso:wa towers over Bethany where they stand but she has a stern, motherly air to her that he would not want to cross, despite her bubbly attitude. Isaac returns from hanging up the jackets and sits at the head of the table.

"Sit down, son, take a load off." He gestures at the table so Sonehso:wa pulls a chair out and obeys. Ratonhnhake:ton didn't tell him he would be treated like family by this man. Bethany takes the utensils from the child when he returns.

"Oh, thank you, Ethan, now go sit down, there's a good boy." The child is staring at Sonehso:wa from where he stands next to the chair. His eyes are large and wide with curiosity so Sonehso:wa leans down to him.

"Hello, Ethan. I am called Sonehso:wa." The child's mouth falls open and Isaac and Bethany watch him with amusement as he reaches over and touches a porcupine quill bead dangling from Sonehso:wa's elbow and then the feather hanging from the end of Sonehso:wa's braid. Ethan's right hand is covered in pink, wrinkled, scarred skin that extends up under his sleeve.

"Ethan is our grandson. Our daughter, Sarah and her husband died just a year ago in a terrible accident, so he's ours now. Poor little mite. He's a good boy though." Isaac directs his attention to his grandson.  "Ethan, go sit down and leave our guest alone." He looks back at Sonehso:wa as the child scurries to the other side of the table and climbs into his chair.

"It's been a while since we've had Connor here, so the boy has never seen an Indian up close before." Isaac explains.  Bethany brings her husband a mug of ale and turns to Sonehso:wa.

"Would you like some ale with dinner?"

"No! Thank you."  Sonehso:wa quickly replies.

"Water then?"

"Yes, I would prefer water." Out of the corner of his eye, Sonehso:wa catches Isaac's mouth twitching as he tries to contain his mirth. Bethany brings Sonehso:wa a mug of water, serves everyone thick slices of chicken and huge piles of potatoes and onions and then sits down on the other end of the table. Isaac looks at his wife and grandson.

"I will say grace." He folds his hands and bows his head just the way he had seen a white missionary do when he had passed through his village once.  Sonehso:wa watches with curiosity as Bethany and Ethan follow suit. Isaac quietly prays and they all move their hands in the same way over their chests at the end. Isaac looks at Sonehso:wa watching them and gives a sheepish smile before starting to eat. Sonehso:wa finds it amusing that Ethan watches him the entire time, sometimes forgetting to chew the food he just put in his mouth. The child is silent and his eyes seem older than his face. The haunted look in them reminds Sonehso:wa of Ratonhnhake:ton when he is preoccupied.

"We rarely have guests during the winter. This is such a treat. You're friends with Connor?" Bethany smiles at Sonehso:wa.

"Yes. I have known him for a few years."

"You didn't grow up together?"

"No. I moved into his village while he was away fighting the war."

"So what brings you to Albany?"

"I am delivering messages for Connor."

"It's a shame he didn't come with you. It's been so long since we have seen him. He's such a nice young man."

"He had other things to attend to."

"Well, aren't you sweet. Helping your friend. You tell him we say hello, alright?" Bethany keeps up a steady banter throughout the meal and Sonehso:wa finds himself making sure to scoop food into his mouth as soon as he finishes answering a question from Bethany. If he did not, he would never get to eat any of it for she peppers him with a barrage of questions the entire meal. He feels relieved when she gets up to clear the table and get Ethan ready for bed. She has to tow the child out of the room by his arm.

"My wife can be a little excitable when we have guests to dinner."  Isaac laughs.

"She seemed happy to have me here. I feel very welcome."

"Always, my boy, always. Well, I have a long day tomorrow, as you probably do too. I'm off to bed. Feel free to make yourself comfortable in the living room. I'm sure Bethany will have stocked it with pillows and blankets for you." He shows Sonehso:wa the living room and just as Isaac had anticipated, there are folded blankets on the couch by the fire with a pillow on top and an ewer full of water sitting in a basin with a towel set beside it.

"Ah, you see? I'll bid you a good night then." After Isaac leaves him, Sonehso:wa retrieves his bedroll from the entryway and lays it out by the fire. Above his head, he hears Isaac and his wife walking around on the second floor and adds another reason why he is uncomfortable in this style of dwelling. He pours some water into the basin and washes his face before trying to sleep. Eventually things quiet down for the night yet the silence is occasionally broken by muffled sounds from animals or neighbors outdoors.

In the morning, Sonehso:wa opens his eyes to see Ethan staring at him from the doorway. He sits up and motions for the child to come closer. When he does, Sonehso:wa picks up his shirt and removes a small bead from his clothing by breaking the sinew thread holding it on. He holds it out between his fingers toward the boy.

"This bead is made from a shell. My people use beads like this to decorate their clothes and hair and to make wampum for messages. Sometimes we use them to remember people by. You keep this one. To help you remember your parents." The boy takes the bead in his hands, studying it silently and then runs out of the room to show his grandmother. Sonehso:wa pulls his shirt on, rolls up his blanket inside his bedroll and refolds the extra blanket Bethany had provided him. Isaac meets him as he walks out of the living room.

"Well, let's go take care of what you need for the rest of your trip. Your letters are probably half way to New York now, so by the time you sleep tonight, they'll have reached their destination."

"That is good news."  Sonehso:wa says as he takes his wrap from Bethany who had just appeared with it in hand.

"You stay safe now, young man. There are some who don't take kindly to your people on the road."

"Thank you Mrs. Young, I will. You are very generous." Out of the corner of his eye, Sonehso:wa spots Ethan as he creeps close behind Bethany and looks up at him, the white bead clutched in his scarred little fist. Sonehso:wa nods to the boy and turns to leave with Isaac.

Outside, Isaac waits as Sonehso:wa collects his horse and attaches his gear. Isaac glances over at Sonehso:wa.

"That was nice of you to give our boy the trinket. He must think you're quite an interesting person. He hasn't spoken since losing his parents, so it means a lot to us that you took an interest in him."

"He is fortunate to have you and your wife to look after him."

"We do what we can for him," They are silent the rest of the way to the store. Inside, Isaac restocks his supply of food and gives him money for any items he may need along the way.

"Well, that about does it. You watch your back in New York, son."

"I will."

"If you need a place to stay on your way back through Albany, just come knocking!"

"Thank you."

When Sonehso:wa is ready to leave, the sun is just breaking the horizon. Isaac opens his store to the public and starts organizing his many shelves as Sonehso:wa closes the door behind him. He gets on his horse and rides south on the wide road out of Albany that runs alongside the river. Small craft are visible moving across the surface of the water. It is the widest river Sonehso:wa has seen and the road runs almost parallel to it as far as it is visible. Once he is free of the city limits, he relaxes into the familiar rhythm of the grey's steady, ground covering pace. People dot the roadway and he is never the only traveler for long over the course of the day. He chooses to bypass an inn that night and instead sleeps outside in an empty field off the road, preferring the company of his horse and the stars over a crowded place.

Sonehso:wa enjoys only the briefest respite from people sharing the road with him on his way to New York. The road stays fairly wide despite passing through open farmland once again and appears to be a heavily trafficked thoroughfare between Albany and New York. Only during the night is he alone for more than a few hours. By the evening of the fourth day since leaving Albany, he is surrounded by travelers and he has passed through several small towns. To avoid drawing attention to himself he pays for a room at an inn, only to end up spreading his bedroll on the floor next to the bed after tossing and turning far into the night on the creaky, uncomfortable mattress.

Only a short time into the morning of the fifth day he enters the city of New York. Seagulls soar overhead, the smell of fish permeates the air and crowds of people like Sonehso:wa has never seen before fill the streets and move constantly into and out of the many buildings. Bombarded by noise and smells beyond what he had experienced in Albany, he tries to quell the anxiety that fills his chest and belly. He had no idea that so many people could live in such a small place. How could anyone find a single woman within this massive collection of humanity? It would be like searching for a certain leaf from among all the trees in the forest. The excitement he had had about starting off on an adventure almost two weeks ago had dwindled greatly once he had reached Albany. Now it is fully replaced by an urgent need to escape back to the quietude of the frontier where there are no people and more importantly, no constant, frenetic activity.

He heads farther east until he comes to the docks where huge ships are at anchor. A vast expanse of water spreads to the horizon and south far beyond his sight. He sits on his horse and takes it all in, hardly believing that so much water could exist without any borders. A great many things are so unfamiliar to him that he feels as if he has crossed into a dream world. New respect for Ratonhnhake:ton builds within him as he contemplates how often he had come here and how much time he probably spent in this place. Sonehso:wa knows he would never be comfortable or content to stay for long in this city. He hopes that Ratonhnhake:ton's contacts are as competent as he says they are so he can leave this place as soon as possible. He turns his horse to walk along the seafront and watches the many goings on. Everywhere people are hurrying, talking, bartering, arguing, loading and unloading the hulking ships and going about their business, the noise muddling together into a cacophonous buzz that makes Sonehso:wa's head ache.

A place of business that appears to be a general store sits among the string of buildings and Sonehso:wa ties his horse outside. Inside, the place is full of even more people who either stare at him or ignore him among a few who have very obvious disgust for his presence. He makes his way to the counter.

"Where can I find the bank?" he asks.  A man nearby laughs.

"What would you have need for at a bank, Indian? Going to deposit some feathers and pine cones?" He erupts into derisive laughter again, a few other patrons joining in and tossing their own comments toward him. Sonehso:wa's shoulders tense and he fights to ignore the man, resting his hands on the countertop and deliberately keeping his fingers relaxed. He knew he would encounter biased people like this but it is not easy to endure. The man who ridiculed him first moves close to Sonehso:wa and partially bars his access to the store owner.

"You didn't answer my question, animal. What's the likes of you want with a white man's bank? You got coin in that bag or just a bunch of forest treasures?" The man reaches toward Sonehso:wa's bag and Sonehso:wa blocks his arm. He considers taking his knife out but remembers Isaac's admonition in the tavern about starting fights too big for him to handle. Though he is confident of his ability to best the aggressive man, the shop keeper's hand hidden below the counter gives him additional pause. One shot from a pistol in such close quarters would end the task set for him by Ratonhnhake:ton and his life in the blink of an eye. He lowers his hand back to the counter, his fingers twitching against the grain of the wood as he fights to control the urge to exchange blows with this irritating man. The room is silent as the other customers press back against the walls, waiting to see what will happen.

"My business is my own." Sonehso:wa keeps his face neutral and merely turns it toward the shop keeper behind the counter. Regarding him for a long time while whispers carry across the awkward silence toward Sonehso:wa, the man finally spits on the floor and leaves the building when Sonehso:wa refuses to react to him. The slamming of the door breaks the tension in the room and conversation picks up again. Fortunately the shop keeper seems to have no problem dealing with Sonehso:wa. He takes his hand out from under the counter, the heavy sound of metal on wood confirming Sonehso:wa's suspicions that he had been ready to shoot one or both of them if they had gotten too rowdy.

"That one's always looking for a fight. You have my gratitude for not giving him the satisfaction." Sonehso:wa nods.

"You can find the bank north of here but you have to take a ferry across to the other side of the river. Once on the other side, head east and you can't miss it. It's a yellow brick building. Three stories."

"Many thanks." Unsure of what the man meant by "three stories" but unwilling to risk drawing further mockery from the others present, Sonehso:wa exits the building and decides to lead his horse instead of ride to the destination. Suspecting that he has not seen the last of his antagonist, he keeps his eyes open for him. After a trip on the strange flat-topped ferry and a brief encounter with some persistent beggar children, Sonehso:wa finds the building. It is a towering brick construction, its distinctive yellow color making it easy to spot among the lower, wooden buildings scattered around it. Three rows of windows sit one on top of the other on the house and Sonehso:wa shakes his head with a small laugh of understanding. Since he has no actual business with the bank he decides to wait for the owner to exit, as Ratonhnhake:ton had told him that his contact was the bank owner's body guard. He sits on a nearby bench with a view of the bank and waits, unhooking the belt that Ratonhnhake:ton gave him and sliding the leather out from under his other belt. Once again turning the steel emblem in his hands, he lets his horse wander nearby, occasionally whistling to him if he ambles too far.

The afternoon wears on towards evening and an older bald man with a reddish mustache dressed in dark green exits the front door of the bank behind another man dressed in black with gold buttons running down either side of his chest. The man in black has white hair and a three cornered style of hat that seem to be popular around these parts. Sonehso:wa can almost feel the bald man's gaze as it lingers on him momentarily and then moves on. The two men pass by where he is sitting and Sonehso:wa deliberately meets the bald man's dark eyes and reveals the belt buckle sitting in his palm. The man continues on but Sonehso:wa knows he will return later. He puts Ratonhnhake:ton's belt back on, concealing it well, and resumes watching the people meandering along the roads. When evening starts shading the sky over the visible sliver of ocean with the deeper hues of dusky reds and purples, the bald man returns and sits beside Sonehso:wa on the bench.

"You must be the man Connor wrote of. I received his letter two days ago." Sonehso:wa nods. The man has a heavy accent that is unlike anything Sonehso:wa has heard yet.

"And you must be Jacob Zenger. I am Sonehso:wa."

"Well met."

"Have you found the woman?"

"We believe so. She appears to be unharmed but there's a complication. She is being watched." Jacob speaks quietly.  Sonehso:wa shifts on the bench, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees.

"Watched?"

"Martinez seems to have an interest in keeping eyes on her. He's been under our own observation for a time. We think he's running slaves through Cuba, or at least financing the procurement of them. It seems rather odd that he has an interest in this young woman. She washes clothes for one of the upper middle class families on the North side of the city. I cannot see what he would gain from having this girl followed. Connor did not provide many details in case of the letters falling into the wrong hands."

"The woman married to the son of Martinez, Catherine, had the woman we seek as her maid. Martinez and his son conspired to have Catherine taken and killed in order to obtain her inheritance.  When men were sent to get proof of her death, they returned with the news that his contracted killers were dead, the place they took her to burned to the ground and no sign of her body."

"An inheritance, hmm? Can I assume that this woman you speak of is alive due to Connor's intervention?" Sonehso:wa nods in confirmation.

"Yes. She was badly injured when he found her, but she is healing now. Once she learned of the treachery of her husband and father in law, her only concern was this woman, Anika. Catherine calls her a sister. Ratonhnhake:ton… Connor… promised to make sure that Anika is safe and cared for as a favor for Catherine. But now I am concerned about this information you have given me about Anika being followed." Jacob rubs his mustache with his thumb and index fingers while he thinks on what Sonehso:wa said.

"If Martinez suspects that his daughter in law is alive, he probably assumes Anika would be the first person she would try to contact. It appears that they are not going drop the issue of her mysterious disappearance so easily. How important is this to Connor?"

"Important enough that he was willing to come here himself. I came instead so that he could keep Catherine safe if more men should come looking for her."

"Ever the honorable man. I wonder if he has a more vested interest than just 'keeping her safe,' hmm?" He looks over at Sonehso:wa and smiles, raising his eyebrows. Sonehso:wa looks at his clasped hands between his knees and is silent.  Jacob makes a scoffing laugh in his chest.  "I thought so. Well, come with me. My wife and I will get you set up at our place and we'll see what is to be done about this situation." He stands and Sonehso:wa follows him to his house several streets in from the waterfront. Jacob brings him to a stable a few doors down from his house. At the doorway, Jacob whistles loudly and a stable boy of about thirteen comes scurrying from the shadows in the back. He has a mop of brown curls that nearly obscure his brown eyes and his face and hands are completely covered in freckles. Sonehso:wa removes his bag from the horse's back, hooks his bedroll under his arm and allows the boy to take his horse to a nearby stall.

"Tomorrow we will go to where we have seen this young lady. The man I work for, Alexander Hamilton, will not be needing my services. If you think that we should approach this girl, then I recommend having my wife do it to avoid arousing suspicion. You would certainly be taken note of and I have no business speaking to a pretty young lady."

"That sounds like a good plan. What of the men watching Anika? I do not think Catherine would be happy if I left her friend in that kind of situation."

"We can work on a plan to get her out of the city if you think it's necessary."

"If Sergio or Francisco is using her as bait for Catherine, then what will become of her if they suspect that she has any knowledge of our involvement or Catherine being alive? Since they seem to have no interest in preserving life, hers could be in danger as well."

"You make a valid point. Maybe you could take her back to Catherine wherever Connor is keeping her."

"We would need to get her away from her followers."

"Let me think on that part. For now, let's work on making sure we have the right woman." Jacob opens the door to his house and Sonehso:wa steels himself for another claustrophobic evening and night. He can't decide which is worse; the crowds and noises outside or the trapped feeling he gets inside.


	9. Equilibrium

Equilibrium

Connor cannot believe that Catherine had reached out to him. He wonders if he is dreaming. The woman sitting between his knees with her head resting against the crook of his left shoulder had just drifted off in his embrace. When she had first climbed over to him and he had wrapped her in his arms, her heart had been fluttering so wildly he could feel it through her body. As they sat together silently, her racing heart had slowed as he stroked her arm until he could no longer feel it pounding and her body had unwound, conforming to the bend of his waist. Her right arm had relaxed enough that when he ran his hand down it, it slid from his neck and settled across her lap over his hand on her stomach, her body shifting until her left shoulder had tucked neatly under his armpit. Fingers crooked slightly, her left hand lay on the floor beside Connor's hip. Connor's left elbow is resting on his bent knee and his forearm hangs low enough that his knuckles brush the top of her leg. Now, with her breathing slow and deep, Connor is afraid to move in case he breaks this reverie.

Looking down at her, he takes in the sight of her neck, the way it curves gracefully from her right shoulder to her jawline, a curly tendril of hair that had strayed from the nape of her neck lying against her skin and swaying with every one of his exhalations. The lacing that runs up the center of her fabric shirt is undone at her neck, the top corners slightly folded down and hanging over the edge of her hide shirt, revealing just enough of her collar bones for Connor to want to touch them. If his right hand were not covered by her arm, he would be tempted to reach up and run his fingers down the perfect arc of her neck, pausing on the flicker of her pulse before trailing his fingertips along the elegant dip of her collarbone.

Connor wonders what it is about this woman that has captured him. He had never wanted to take even a single step back from his duties as an Assassin before. Not that he wants to give it up; he would never do that for anything. Rather, he considers taking on the role of Mentor more completely, letting his recruits manage smaller skirmishes with more independence while he directs matters from a distance. After Achilles passed, Connor was left as the highest ranking Assassin in the colonies, effectively making him Mentor at a very young age. His men had proven their mettle time and again and his ranks of Assassins have only grown larger and stronger every day, spreading across the land in an intricate web of influence. As the network has expanded, his ability to split his attentions between direct involvement in every major conflict and keeping track of his more distant connections has suffered. Maybe it is time to anchor in Davenport once again, only now it would be to take on the challenge Achilles had begun, to shoulder the burden of establishing an unbreakable stronghold of Assassin activity in the heart of the colonies.

Connor sighs as his eyes trail over Catherine's features.  He wonders if his attraction is spurious - a need to protect a vulnerable woman.  He knows a dark part of him will never let him forget that he failed to protect the woman he cared for the most when his village was burning to the ground two and a half decades ago.  His mother's screams as she burned to death still wake him in the night and remind him that he was weak and incompetent, even though he was just a boy.  A part of him wants to protect this woman and prevent any further harm to her as if by doing so, he will be able to forgive himself for his mother's death. Yet a different part of him knows that there is something more, no matter how much he wants to silence that voice in favor of logic and the tasks that lie before him.  Nevertheless, as Catherine heals from her experiences he will need to step back from shielding her in order for her to strengthen herself. She will be forced to make difficult decisions in the future; Connor is convinced that she has not escaped the reaches of her husband and father in law and he is certain their paths will cross one way or another. It will be either Catherine's undoing or her triumph.

Maybe his attraction is also due to her never making any demands of him. She has never asked him for anything, other than accepting his offer to help. He has been the one extending to her all the time. In the beginning it had been because of his sense of responsibility to render aid to an injured woman but in just this short time it had progressed into something so much more. Every step he has been able to make with gaining her trust has felt like a victory and motivates him to give more of himself the next time. Connor thinks back to Dobby and her almost insatiable drive to get what she wanted. She made no effort to hide her motivations and had grown used to getting her way, knowing no bounds to the measures she would take to attain what she wanted. Dobby is the most demanding woman Connor knows. Her will and attitude enhance her fighting abilities but decimated his desire to be with her, for she knew no other way than to please herself. For that reason, he had reinforced in his mind that being an Assassin and a husband were not mutually beneficial.

Catherine is so very different. She seems to have an idea of what she wants her life to be but after having been brought so low she is unsure of how to rebuild it in a way that will make her happy. Her surprising empathy for his dark past is magnetizing and it makes him want to help her realize her potential more than ever. He is concerned about what will happen once she knows about the Brotherhood. What if she wants to join the ranks? If she gets a taste for redemption will she become unstoppably determined in her quest for revenge? He already knows how intoxicating the need for revenge can be and would hate to see her follow the same path he had and end up just as empty-handed. While he does not want her to be a vapid, simpering woman without a care in the world, neither does he want her to become as overtly headstrong as Dobby is, looking for a fight wherever she can find one and turning the results to her advantage. Strong women interest Connor, but not that strong. It is a knife's edge of difference and based on the brief bursts of fire Catherine has displayed, she has the potential to veer in the Dobby direction if encouraged to. Could she ever be a woman who has a strong will yet still needs to, no, _wants_ to be cared for? A woman who can stand by his side without fear, yet knows when to step back and let others take the reins. Confidence and modesty perfectly balanced. Is he wishing for the impossible?

Catherine stirs against his shoulder and Connor lowers his face down until his lips are touching Catherine's hair just above her ear. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply of her warm, velvety scent before softly kissing her head. Opening her eyes, Catherine raises her head and pushes her left hand against his thigh to sit up. Connor moves his head so that when she sits up his jaw is against the side of her forehead. When her shoulder is out from under his armpit, he moves his elbow off his knee and takes her left hand in his, slowly bringing it over her stomach so he has both his arms fully around her waist.

The heavy burden of sleepy exhaustion still weighs on Catherine's eyes and fogs her mind. The fire has burned down to only glowing embers yet her body is comfortably warm. Connor's arms around her raise a surge of alarm in her chest but he is neither restraining her nor touching her inappropriately. He strokes the back of her left hand softly with his thumb and his right hand is relaxed against the side of her stomach; the weight of his arms are the only pressure on her. Her heart is squeezed mercilessly in her chest as her mind still fights her purely emotional decision to stay with Connor. It unearths all her distrust and illuminates the most degrading details of her abuse and makes her feel like a polluted whore. She takes a deep breath to repress the upheaval and Connor lifts the weight of his arms off of her, stilling his thumb on her hand. If she were to move away he would immediately release her. The realization makes her want to stay where she is and fills her with a sense of relief that is almost overwhelming. On her exhalation, she shakes her head, moving her right hand over to touch her fingers to the backs of Connor's knuckles and he relaxes his arms against her body once more with a sigh of his own. The wave of crushing anxiety passes, leaving Catherine even more determined to forge ahead on the road she has chosen.

Catherine rests her head back against Connor's chest and he lowers his face until their cheeks are touching.  Connor marvels at the smoothness of her skin against his face.  Only the soft sounds of their breathing and the occasional crackle of the embers in the fireplace disturb the quiet.  There is something extraordinary in the silence of their companionship; a tacit understanding that passes between them and blots out the need for superfluous talk. Her subtle actions carry a flood of meaning to Connor and his heart soars with hope that she will succeed in fully unfettering herself from the chains of her past. Content with what she has given him and making a wholehearted attempt to empathize with what it must have cost her, Connor refrains from touching his lips to her cheek despite a heady need to do so. He has already pushed what he believes to be the outer limits of her tolerance for physical intimacy and he refuses to have it all turn to vapor because he is greedy. She has richly rewarded his risky conduct in the morning with this unprecedented act of acceptance that still fills him with dream-like disbelief.

Catherine's shoulder is stiff and sitting still for so long and it is starting to get uncomfortable. She leans forward slightly and Connor lifts his arms, letting her sit up. As she moves away, his hands lightly slide off her waist, and the sensation sends similar bursts of warmth through her body as when Connor's lips brushed over her wrist, though not as intense. When she gets to her feet she turns her head to look back at him. His eyes are once again bottomless with desire and more compelling than she is prepared for. He gives her a half smile and starts to get up as well. Catherine crosses her left arm over her chest and rubs her shoulder with her hand. Connor takes a step closer to her and gestures to her shoulder.

"You will be sore for two or three days. The worst will probably be over by tomorrow night or the next morning if you keep practicing. You did well today."

"I want to keep practicing. I don't think I'll ever be as good as you but I'll certainly try."

"I hope you will still feel that way tomorrow."

"Of course I will!" Connor offers a knowing smile to her exclamation and shrugs his shoulders.

"I will ask you again in the morning, then."

A rolling wave of nausea makes Catherine sit up quickly in bed with her right hand over her mouth, the morning sun only just coloring the violet light that drifts through the windows. At the same moment, a shockwave of pain streaks down the right side of her neck, through her shoulder and the length of her entire arm. Ignoring the pain as best as she can, she rips the blankets off of her, runs to the door past the dark form of Connor and lets herself outside. At the railing of the porch, she clutches the wooden beam and leans out over the cliff, swallowing the sour saliva in her mouth repeatedly in an attempt to keep from vomiting. Sweat breaks out on her face and neck, cooling rapidly on her skin in the chilly morning air and she takes in ragged breaths as she shivers. She dry heaves once before managing to control her stomach. The nausea fades slowly into a dull, unsettled ache and Catherine lets her knees buckle until she is squatting, her arms stretched above her bowed head and her hands gripping the wooden beam above. With the pressing need to vomit gone, the pain in her neck and arm come to the forefront of her perception and she lets her right arm drop to the deck beside her feet. Any movement renews the searing pain in her muscles and she does her best to remain still as she continues to breathe deeply. Another surge of nausea, weaker than the first, forces her to drop her knees onto the porch floor and lean over the lower railing. When it, too, passes, Catherine turns and sits with her back against one of the vertical support beams for the roof of the porch and leans her head against it with her eyes closed. She catches her breath with deep, open mouthed respirations. A powerful shiver runs through her body as the cold tries to freeze the sweat that had broken out on her body and she opens her eyes, only to see Connor standing in the doorway watching her with concern. He is barefoot and shirtless, his left hand positioned partly behind his body and his right holding the handle of the door. His face is creased with worry and his lips are parted slightly.

"What happened?" His voice is urgent.

"Nothing. I just felt sick for a moment. I'm alright now." Catherine slowly rises to her feet, wincing at the pain in her muscles, and Connor presses his back against the frame of the door so she can pass by. Inside, Connor's belt is lying on the floor. She picks it up with her less painful left hand and turns around to face Connor. He grasps the empty sheath hanging from it and raises it up, bringing his left arm out from behind him and depositing his giant hunting knife in it. Catherine's eyebrows climb her forehead in surprise.

"What did you think was happening?" she asks. Connor shakes his head.

"I did not know. You ran outside so fast it could have been anything. I wanted to be prepared."

"Oh." Catherine breathes, feeling shaky and weak from her nausea and Connor's quickness to have a weapon at hand.  Connor takes the belt from her and hangs it up on its peg by the door. Catherine goes back to the bed and sits down with her arms crossed over her stomach. Connor approaches and stands by the bedside looking down at her.

"Are you sure you are not ill?"

"Yes, I'll feel better in a few minutes. I'm just a bit dizzy, is all." Connor stands over her, his eyebrows close together on his brow. He reaches out and grazes her cheek with his fingers for a moment.

"You are pale."

"I'm alright, Connor, really." Catherine insists.  Connor continues standing before her and Catherine's eyes are drawn down from his face to his tattoos and then the enormous scar on his abdomen that is just below her eye level. This is the closest she has been to him for any extended amount of time when he has not had his shirt on. Before she realizes what she is doing, Catherine lifts her hand and touches the scar with her fingers. The raised skin is a knotted lump under her fingers and lacks the smooth, even texture of the rest of his skin.

"What happened to you?" She whispers, her fingers tracing the circle of the largest, worst part in front and then the line of stitch marks that extend from it onto his side. The tiny scars from his stitches are evenly spaced and feel like a double row of small, flat embroidery rosettes flanking the straighter incision-like scar that curves around his side.

Connor becomes very still as Catherine touches him. The sensation of her fingers is dulled by the scar tissue but he can still detect the warmth and feather light pressure as she moves her hand along it. He looks down at where she is touching his skin and then over to her face. A small crease is between her eyebrows and her lips are just barely separated as she stares at the mark on his body.

"It happened in Boston. A ship construction scaffolding collapsed while I was on it and a piece of a wooden strut was driven into my abdomen. I do not know if I fell on to it or if the debris that landed on top of me pierced me." Catherine looks up at him, concern filling her eyes.

"What were you doing on the scaffolding?"

"I was pursuing my father's second in command." Catherine inhales sharply at his admission. So his decades long search for a bitter enemy ended with a ghastly injury that probably came close to taking his life. She looks back down at his scar and traces the lines of it once more before lowering her hand to her lap.

"Does it hurt you?" she asks.  Connor shakes his head.

"Not usually." Connor's heart is pounding in his chest and he desperately wants to feel Catherine's hands on his skin. He changes the subject to move away from such dangerous waters.  "How is your shoulder feeling?" Catherine smiles at what she knows is a loaded question.

"I think you know how it feels…"

"Do you still want to practice today?" He questions her with a ghost of a smile on his face. Catherine gives him a long, cynical look and then purses her lips. She considers giving in to her discomfort and letting him have the satisfaction of being right. Then again, maybe he wants her to push herself and he is intentionally goading her into it by flaunting his smug amusement in such an obvious way.

"I won't be defeated by a few sore muscles." she declares.  Connor's face finally breaks fully into a smile.

"More target practice with the bow, then?" His smile widens at Catherine's perturbed expression as she contemplates the dismal prospect of using her right arm to haul on that cursed string all morning. She opens and closes her mouth and then defiantly looks him in the eyes.

"Of course. Whatever you think is best." Connor's smile fades only slightly as he realizes she isn't going to fall into his trap. He wanted to surprise her by revealing he has something else in mind than target practice again. Maybe she would have given him another devastatingly spectacular smile. Catherine is not the pouting type at all, it seems. Connor realizes it is better that way. Sonehso:wa prefers the pouty ones who play coy yet know exactly what they are doing with him. Catherine seems to either be willing to play along with his silly game or is simply refusing to appear weak. He should probably determine which one it is before he gets into trouble or she hurts herself pushing beyond her limits. A brief prickle of shame makes him question his decision to trick her. Hasn't she been deceived enough? He squashes his worry with the knowledge that she will not be angry with him in the end.

"I will be outside setting up some things for practice then. Come out when you are ready." A smile lingers on his mouth as he walks away. Catherine balls her hands into fists and follows him with her eyes as he crosses the room, puts on his shirt and dresses for the outdoors. When he leaves the cabin, she falls backwards on the bed and stares at the peaked log ceiling with a sigh. _What am I doing? Why didn't I just say that my arm hurts too much for practice today? What am I trying to prove to him? And what the hell is_ he _doing? Why is he being so odd? That smile he had! It was like he was laughing inside!_

Catherine lies for a while on the bed, her toes dangling above the floor, and works at building up her motivation to train on the bow. She accepted his offer to train so now she needs to hold up her end. _I'm an idiot, well and true if I think it would be easy to just pick up a weapon I'd never touched before and master it in one session_. A hammering sound comes from outside and she wonders what Connor is up to. Maybe he is putting actual targets up for her. She squirms against the mattress, the scabs on her back itching relentlessly as they heal. When she has scratched to satisfaction, she rises to her feet and eats some leftovers from dinner the night before. Her stomach settles the rest of the way down with some food in it. Despite feeling much better, Catherine still drags her feet as she puts on her boots and jacket. She favors her arm as much as possible.

At the door, Connor's bow and all his weapons are in their places. He didn't even put on his belt. Two guns hang on their pegs on the wall and a long musket is above the door. Not a single weapon of his is out of place. So strange! Through the window, Catherine catches sight of Connor stacking pieces of wood in his arms before he carries them out of sight. Sighing in resignation, Catherine picks up Connor's unstrung bow and his quiver full of arrows and opens the door. The sun is bright in the sky and the air is warmer than it has been, making the snow begin to settle wetly, no longer light and powdery.  At the edge of the porch, Catherine stops and watches as Connor uses the flat back side of his wood chopping axe to pound long stakes deeply into the ground, two sets of two opposite each other forming a one foot square. Inside the stakes, Connor lays logs in threes, each layer lying perpendicular to the last and leaving the center log out on the top layer. There are several sets of these spread around the open area with long, thick branches spanning several of them. Connor picks up the end of another branch and lowers it into the gap between the two logs in the stakes. Moving to the next reinforced stack, he lifts the other end into the gap, forming a bridge between the stacks with the branch. He then takes a length of rope and wraps it around the stakes and over the end of the branch in an "X" shape to secure both the stack and the branch tightly together, tying a complicated knot on the side. He moves on to the next stack and repeats his rope tying process.

The chestnut horse is wandering around the area, no longer penned in by the wood stacks. Catherine whistles softly and both the chestnut and Connor look over at her on the porch. Connor waves her over so she leans the bow and quiver against the cabin and walks over to inspect the curious bridges he is constructing.  When she gets close, Connor lifts his head again from his work.

"What do you think?" he asks.

"I think these are the strangest looking targets I've ever seen."  Catherine furrows her brow skeptically at Connor and he grins widely.  He shakes his head.

"These are not targets, WildCat. I will not make you do archery today. I am not that cruel. Today you will practice your balance." Connor finishes tying the last stack together. He steps onto the branch and crosses along its length to the adjoining stack, stopping in the middle to bounce his weight on it and test its strength. Catherine is smiling by the time he steps down from the logs.

"I admit that I wasn't looking forward to using that bow. I think I can manage this," she finishes, confidently.

"I will make it a challenge for you." Connor assures her.  Catherine smiles inwardly. She is sure she will be better at this than shooting the bow. Connor offers her his hand to step up on the stack of wood but she ignores it and jumps up with alacrity, using her arms to balance lightly on the stack. Hesitating for only a moment, she steps out on the branch and slowly walks across it, picking up her speed as she finds her balance. The branch is easy to feel through her soft boots, making it effortless to place her steps. At the end, she jumps down into the snow. Turning around, she faces Connor, crosses one foot behind the other and mimics a curtsy to him, her hands holding an invisible skirt out to the sides.

"Impressive, WildCat." Connor stands with his arms crossed over his chest and nods. Her cheeks have regained their pinkness and then some from her activity. He looks toward the branch and continues.  "Now run across it."

Catherine looks at him sharply and lowers her eyes to the branch. She backs up a few steps, bends forward slightly and takes a deep breath, concentrating. She runs the few steps through the snow to the stack, leaps up and starts across the branch. Only steps onto it, her balance falters and she jumps off into the snow beside it. Connor opens his mouth to speak but Catherine interrupts him by raising her hand out towards him before any sound can come out.

"Wait! I can do this, I know I can!" She jogs to the end Connor is standing at and stops a few paces beyond him. Turning, she takes a breath and lets it out slowly, calming her mind. This time she makes it all the way across and she jumps off the end with a shout of victory. She is triumphant when she turns back to face him and she runs back across just to compound her success. At the end she hops down and prances over to Connor, breathing hard and feeling immensely proud of herself. Connor smiles down at her and enjoys seeing her so confident.

"I thought you said you were going to challenge me," she teases with a saucy tone to her voice. Connor narrows his eyes in mock skepticism.

"Very well." Connor walks over to the next bridge he had constructed, one end of the supported branch only a couple feet from the end of the first but extending away at an angle. Connor walks all the way to the end, jumps up onto the branch and tests his weight on it. When he is satisfied with its stability, he jumps down and walks a few steps away. Turning, he runs up to the stack, leaps onto the branch and runs across it, jumping the gap between the bridges and adjusting his course to cross the second one before bounding off the end and stopping. He steps to Catherine's side and looks down at her silently. Catherine squares her shoulders and walks to the starting point though inside, her confidence is wavering.

Catherine makes the jump across to the second bridge but fails to change her trajectory soon enough and she ends up in the snow with a shout, tumbling on her side as she falls. Connor runs over to her with concern but she rolls on her back and sits up, gathering her hair up and dragging it behind her shoulders.

"I almost had it!" Catherine takes his offered hand and he pulls her to her feet. He is careful not to step closer to her as he does, knowing he would be unable to resist bringing his arm around her and kissing her flushed face.

"It is not as easy as it seems. Practice this one for a while and I will set up your next challenge." Connor says, forcing himself to fall into his Assassin training voice.  Catherine unbuttons her coat as he is speaking, removes it and hooks it over a broken branch on a nearby tree.

"I'll get this right, I'm sure of it."

"Then I will work quickly." He stands for a moment and watches Catherine with admiration for her enthusiasm and rare beauty before he moves away, picking up the axe from where he leaned it against a tree.  Catherine tracks him with curiosity. His eyes… She would swear under oath that he would rather not be walking away from her right now but his voice and body language do not betray him the way his eyes do. If not for what she saw in them yesterday coupled with his actions, she would be unaware of how much they are divulging. His self control is remarkable.

As Catherine steps up onto one of the bridges and slowly walks across it, she contemplates her changing relationship with Connor. Though Connor's desire for her is flattering and heartwarming, she still becomes a confused mess of indecision at the thought of him being much more intimate with her. Part of her deeply craves his companionship and care, the kindness he gives to her and his low voice when he speaks; even his warm embraces and gentle caresses have wriggled past her original defenses and become inextricably linked with who he is and what he has become to her. While she finds her body awakening to his touch, responding to it without conscious thought on her part, the edges of her nerves remain shadowed in fear, waiting for the pain, for his tenderness to be revealed as only a mask over some vile, lurking evil. His overtures seem innocuous on the surface but every one of them is leading her incrementally further down the path she has chosen to follow. She knows what inevitably lies at the end if she allows Connor to take her there and she hopes that by the time they reach it she will be ready to set aside her doubts and defeat her past.

"Are you going to make that jump or just pace, WildCat?" Connor calls to her from where he is tying rope to a stack in a row of several parallel bridges with expanding gaps between them. Catherine looks up from her feet and walks the length of the branch. At the end she hops the gap and walks the second bridge. With a steely countenance, she spins about and curls her toes over the crossed rope under her foot. Diverting all her energy to her goal, she dashes from her crouched position and crosses the bridge, clearing the gap and landing on the second bridge. Her momentum all but carries her off the edge but she twists her body and uses the strength in her legs from years of riding to forcibly change course. The very next step she takes is firmly in the right direction and she reaches the end of the bridge successfully. Between the sprint and the battle in her head, she is breathing hard and her heart races.

"Again!" Connor shouts from where he is working.

Catherine makes several more sprints across the two bridges, only falling off once when her foot slips. She finally stops when a cramp in her side doubles her over. When it subsides, she stands back up and walks over to where Connor is. He rises to his feet after pulling the last knot tight. Stepping onto the first bridge, he jumps from one to the next as if they are stepping stones, checking the stability and at the same time, showing Catherine a slow version of what he wants her to do.

"Are you ready to try this?" he asks.  Catherine silently nods and Connor continues. "Stay on this side for now until you get comfortable. It is harder to balance in the middle where the branch bends more." When Catherine jumps from the first to the second branch, she wavers on the landing. Her arms windmill as she tries not to fall off but she does anyway, jumping backwards into the snow. When her feet hit the ground, she stumbles back and crashes into the first bridge, which hits the backs of her knees, buckling them. With her arms still flailing, she topples backward with a cry. Her fall is cut short when Connor catches her left arm just above her elbow with his right hand. Despite his support, the lower half of her body still falls on the other side of the bridge, causing her feet to kick upwards in an embarrassing fashion. Catherine has a fistful of Connor's sleeve and she retains her grip on it as he pulls her back up to her feet.

Connor had moved between the bridges to pull Catherine up and this time he has no room to step back without tripping over a bridge as well. By the time Catherine is upright, there is no space between them and she has her right hand pressed flat against his chest. Against his better judgment, he brings his other arm around her and places his hand on the small of her back. Her body goes rigid and she glances up at him for the briefest second before casting her eyes down and turning her head away. In that moment he sees fear in her eyes and something… else.

The raw mixture of fear and longing, like oil and water, wells up in her and her heart feels as if it will leap from her chest at any moment. A hot bead of sweat trickles down from between her shoulder blades and makes its way toward where Connor's hand is on her back. She knows what he wants and she cannot bring herself to allow it, nor can she resist him. She presses her hand against his chest and moves to the side. His hands come away from her body, a crippling blend of relief and regret taking their place. Had she not decided to stay with him for his kindness and protection? Did she not accept that it would involve putting her past behind her? Despite knowing that she is used and polluted, he still had kissed her. By doing so he had as good as told her that her past does not affect how he views her. But every time he touches her, her mind works hard at twisting his caress into a rough grab, a soft stroke into a strike, corrupting his kindness with a dark cloak of violence.

Catherine wants nothing more than to forget what was done to her but she can't.  And she can't imagine why Connor would ever look at her as anything other than ruined.  She is unable to come up with even a vague estimate of how many times each of those horrid men had taken her. Sometimes it had been two of them at once, one of them holding a pistol to her neck as he forced her to satisfy his base desires with her mouth, not caring that she would gag and retch. He would threaten to pull the trigger if she even thought about biting down and then he would haul on her hair, roughly pushing into her as tears poured from her eyes. At the same time, the other would use her hard enough to make her scream, adding to her torment and their enjoyment. If she managed to contain her screams, they would sodomize her, leaving her bloody and unable to move when they finally tired of her.

Why, now that she has someone standing before her who would never force her or hurt her, can she not separate one from the other? God, if only she had been able to get away from them that day. None of that would have happened to her.

Connor's hand on her shoulder brings her back and she finds herself on her knees between the wood bridges.  She's terribly confused for a moment until she looks up at Connor.

"Oh God… I was gone again wasn't I?"  she turns her head back down to the slushy snow that is soaking her pants.

"I suppose you could say that. Your eyes were looking far away and then you knelt down. I did not want to touch you but you were not waking up."

"I'm sorry Connor, I don't want to practice this anymore."  She wipes the tears away that had formed in her eyes during her remembrance.  

"I understand. Do you want to rest inside?"

"No."  Catherine looks up at Connor and right into his concerned eyes. "I want you to teach me how to fight."  Connor leans back as if she pushed him. 

"I do not know if that is a good idea right now. You seem upset by what you were remembering." Catherine takes a handful of his jacket in her right hand, gripping it against his chest.

"I _am_ upset! I'll never be able to move past what was done to me until I know it will _never_ happen again." her ferocity shocks Connor and his eyes open wider at her sudden change in demeanor.

"It will not happen again." He tries to keep his voice low to calm her.

"You don't _know_ that!" Catherine cries. Tears shine in her eyes once more and she pushes against Connor's chest. He raises his hand to her wrist and tries to take her hand away but she clenches her fingers tighter. He looks into her eyes, finding a frightening desperation in them.

"WildCat, I will not let it happen again."

"You can't be by my side for every moment of the rest of my life." Catherine's anxious insistence touches off Connor's frustration and it comes through in his voice.

"What else would you have me do, then?"

"Teach me! Teach me how to get away if someone grabs me. Teach me to _fight_!" her voice cracks under her ire.  Connor continues to look at her with doubt in his eyes. The last thing he wants right now is to reenact her capture, to play the part of a rapist.  She softens her voice but not the desperate fire in her steely blue eyes. "Please, Connor."

He sighs, reigning in his aggravation and becoming deadly serious.

"If you are at all not sure about this, speak now. This will be difficult for both of us, but worse for you. I refuse to start this if we are not going see it through to its conclusion. Do you understand what that means?" Catherine is silent, knowing exactly what it means. She nods but Connor isn't satisfied. " _Tell me what it means_ , WildCat."  his eyes are burning her with their intensity yet she can't look away if she will succeed in convincing him.

"It means I'll relive all of it, over and over. It means… that you won't stop... even if I scream and cry for you to let go. That… I'll hate you for it, even as I'm grateful for the lesson." Tears fall from her eyes unchecked. Connor nods again when she finishes speaking, the pain in his heart almost unbearable. He reaches up and touches a tear that has settled at the edge of her jaw with his finger.

"I had hoped you would not want to learn hand to hand combat. It will not be easy for you.  It will incite painful memories."

"It's the only way." Catherine says hoarsely.  Connor shakes his head, his irritation gaining the upper hand again.

"No. It is _not_ the only way, it is just the only way _you_ can see right now." He takes his fingers from her face and gently but effectively pries her hand from his chest. Getting up, he turns his back to her and paces away. With one hand rubbing the back of his neck, he shakes his head and stares up at the top of the cliff far above the cabin. _How long will this take? A week? Longer? How many bruises will she regain as a result of this, and from my own hands?_ It is one thing to fight an enemy but another entirely to deliberately restrain a woman in such a violent way. This goes against everything, _everything_ he knows and crosses every value that had been instilled in him both as a Kanien'keha:ka man and as an Assassin. _How can I do this to a woman I care for? A woman I want only to kiss and caress… and maybe even love?_ He lowers his head and sighs again. He understands why she wants this. The world she comes from is not a safe one for women. Even if she were to become his wife, it is unlikely that she would stay in his village forever, especially if he were to change how he runs the Brotherhood. They would be in Davenport, a place filled with the best people he knows but not so separate from the rest of the world that she would be perfectly safe. As his companion, she would be considered a weak spot, a target and a way for his enemies to get to him. She is right and he knows it. If he has to leave her behind at times, she should know how to protect herself and not just with weapons.

Catherine watches as Connor paces. Despite what he said, she is sure this is the only way for her to heal. She has to face it and come away knowing she is capable of escaping. As he turns and starts walking back to her she gets to her feet, aware that the worst part will be now,  when her trauma is fresh and she knows nothing. Without any preamble, Connor begins instructing her.

"The first thing you need to know are the vulnerable places on any target. Ears, nose, eyes, throat, and groin."  He points to each part on himself as he speaks. "They are unprotected and painful when injured. If someone has you, you aim for those places first. You can dig your thumbs into an attacker's eyes, slap his ears with your flat palms, or grab his ears and pull them forward." He takes her hand and flattens her palm.

"Hold your hand rigid and strike with the side of it on the nose and throat, or with the base of it on the nose." He moves her hand to demonstrate the chopping move on his throat and the motion of hitting his nose with her palm. "You strike _fast_ and _hard_ ; no hesitation, no obvious draw back. A knee or kick to the groin as a follow up will render your attacker unable to chase you."  Still holding her hand, he reaches down and takes her leg behind her knee with his other hand and pulls it up until it is almost in contact with his groin.  Letting go of her leg, he adds, "Once you strike, you run."  

Catherine nods and repeats the motions slowly and then quickly until Connor is satisfied with her form. At last, he stands before her with his hands slightly up in front of him.

"Hit me now. I am attacking you." He steps toward her but Catherine hesitates.  He lunges at her, grabbing the neckline of her shirt and using his forward force to bear her down to the ground where he straddles her waist. Catherine screams and raises her hand to swing at him but Connor grabs her wrist and raises it up over her head.

"You _cannot_ hesitate! Not for one moment. If you are too slow you will not succeed and then you are his." He gets off of her and pulls her to her feet. Once more he stands before her.

"Hit me." Catherine hesitates and for a second time he grabs her and takes her to the ground. Catherine's body shakes beneath him as she tries to contain her distress.

"I said _hit_ me!" Connor leans forward over her and for just a brief flash, the man with the whip is the one straddling her, holding the front of her dress in his hands and starting to rip it from her body. With a scream that comes from somewhere deep inside her, Catherine smashes her palm into the bottom left side of Connor's nose. He reels backward and to the right, instinctively lifting his hands from her shirt to cover his face. Blood runs from beneath his hands and Catherine stares, open mouthed, horrified at what she has done. Connor moves his hands away from his face and looks at them while a dark river of blood streams from his nose, staining his mouth and chin crimson before raining into the snow. When he raises his tear blurred eyes to her and sees that she is just lying there he raises his voice.

" _Run_!" He roars as he starts to get to his feet.  Catherine rolls onto her stomach and lurches to her hands and knees.  "Get up and RUN!" Connor bellows at her. He leans forward and reaches for her nearest foot with his bloody hand. Catherine screams and leaps to her feet, running as fast as she can into the woods. When her lungs are burning and her legs feel weak, she drops to her hands and knees and vomits into the snow, sobbing for air between every retch and choke. Tears and mucous run from her eyes and nose as she tries desperately to remind herself that Connor is not a rapist.

"Connor is not a rapist. Connor is not a rapist Connor is not a rapistConnorisnotarapist…" The words tumble from her like a litany until they blur together and her heart rate and breathing start to slow to a more normal rate.

Catherine is unaware of how long she stays doubled over in the snow but when she finally gets up and makes her way back to the cabin, Connor is nowhere in sight. The abandoned obstacle course covers a large part of the clear area beside the cabin and part of her wishes she had never asked to stop practicing, even though she knows she had to. Blood stains mark the snow where she had run from Connor and an intermittent trail of red droplets indicate that he went towards the gorge. The chestnut horse is by the cliff standing in a sunny spot where his enclosure used to be, the sole representation of peace in a wasteland of fractured intentions. Catherine heads to the cabin and opens the door a crack, peeking inside to see if Connor is there. He is not. A stab of worry pierces her and all she can see in her head is the blood pouring from his nose. She crosses quickly to the supply room and takes some rags from the shelf before heading back outside.

At the bottom of the trail, Catherine looks up towards the waterfall and sees Connor sitting cross legged on a low, flat rock beside the river with his hood pulled up. His elbows are resting on his knees and his right hand is cupped over his nose. He is a picture of misery, intensified when he does not look up as she approaches him. Catherine wonders if he was wrong when he said it would be worse for her. While what he did was frightening, he never actually hurt her; the only thing he forced her to do was react. Not only is he hurting physically from their little exercise, he's hurting mentally as well. Blood still covers his open mouth and chin visible below his hand and a trail of blood has run down his neck and dripped onto his jacket. Dark lines spiral down his wrist from his right hand and disappear under his sleeve. Red smudges mar left side and front of his hood where he pulled it up with bloodied fingers. Bending to the river, Catherine wets one of the rags in the freezing water and steps closer Connor. She kneels by the flat rock and takes his left hand in hers. Though their heads are just about at the same height, she keeps her eyes on his hand as she cleans the blood from his skin.

Connor can hardly bear to look at Catherine as she kneels before him with the rag. The one request she has made of him has driven him to behave in a way so contrary to his nature that he is repelled by his own existence. For her to even want to be near him after what he did is a confounding mystery. When she finishes with his hand, she washes the rag in the river and returns to facing him. Holding the rag in her left hand and resting the back of her wrist on his calf for balance, she leans closer and reaches her right hand toward him, gently pushing his hood back from his face. She takes the rag from her left hand and, with a feather light touch, carefully starts cleaning the blood off his chin. Connor slowly releases the squeezing pressure he had been holding on his nose and groans at the pain. The bleeding seems to have stopped, so he lowers his right hand from over his nose. Catherine quietly gasps when he does and he knows his nose must be a mess. He is fairly certain she did not break it but it still feels twice its normal size. As Catherine doggedly continues her ministrations, being careful not to exert any pressure on him, he notices a red mark on her chest where her fabric shirt is unlaced. He reaches over with his left hand and pulls on the corner of her shirt. Catherine freezes in place but Connor moves her shirt to the side anyway. Once he has seen the rest of the marks dotting her collar bones and upper chest, he drops the material and sighs, shaking his head. Never in his life did he think he would ever mark a woman's skin with violence.

When Connor takes his hand from her shirt and sighs, Catherine reaches her left hand to where he had been looking. Her fingers find several tender spots and she realizes that she must have visible marks on her chest from when he grabbed her and pushed her down. She doesn't care, but he obviously does. There is nothing she can do about that so she continues addressing his injuries. Connor's nose is a hideous shade of purple and some of the duskiness has spread outwards towards his eyes. The left side of it is more swollen than the right. He is forced to continue breathing through his mouth since she is sure his nasal passages are filled with clotted blood. As she cleans his lips off, all she can think of is when he kissed her wrist. _Was that really only a day ago?_ More carefully then ever, she washes around his nostrils and over the top of his nose where his bloody fingers had been. There is a small tear in his skin where his left nostril meets his face. He stoically submits to her but she knows he is in great pain when he closes his eyes and holds his breath. His right hand hovers near his face as she works but Catherine tries to be gentle enough so he doesn't stop her.

Catherine's face is only inches from his as she swabs at him. The rag comes away more and more vivid with blood and she has to clean it out half way through. Her eyebrows are knitted with concentration and sadness and her bottom lip quivers when he slightly hisses through his clenched teeth once. Only when she reaches for his right hand does she finally look into his eyes for an extended period of time. Connor finds that it is actually a relief, since all the time she had spent cleaning him off she had resembled a frightened servant girl, afraid to look into her abusive master's eyes. He still feels like a beast for earlier but at least she seems to be regaining some confidence. If his pain means her breaking free of the captivity of her mind then it is worth it. Catherine pushes back the sleeve of his jacket and shirt with her fingers and cleans the almost dry trails of blood from his wrist as far as she can reach. Once his hand is clean, Catherine drops the rag on the ground and reaches toward him with both hands. When her fingers land on the top button of his jacket, he shifts backward.

"Wad are you doing?" His quiet words are distorted by his clogged nostrils.

"Your jacket is covered in blood. I need to wash it or it will be stained permanently." Connor nods and starts unbuttoning his jacket from the bottom while Catherine works downward. She goes behind him and helps it off of his shoulders and arms before taking it to the river and scrubbing it with a fresh rag. Connor never would have expected her to be taking off his clothes in such disturbing circumstances. The irony of it makes him grimace. He had longed to feel her hands taking even a single article of his clothing off for days, knowing it was only a fantasy and now she just has, after he threw her to the ground and forced her to smash his face. When she finishes cleaning it, she lays his jacket in the snow and rises to her feet. Kneeling once again in front of him, she leans forward, reaches towards him and curls her ice cold fingers into the hair at the back of his head. She meets his eyes and then pulls his head toward her just enough to press her lips lightly to the top of his forehead in a soft kiss. Drawing back, she meets his eyes and speaks quietly.

"I don't know if I should thank you or apologize. Maybe I should do both." Connor raises his hands up and rests them on her forearms. 

"I can only apologize bud you would nod have id, would you?" His eyes are deeply apologetic but Catherine shakes her head and kisses his forehead again.

"No." she whispers, and withdraws her hands from him, picks up his jacket and the rags and walks back to the cabin.

Knowing Connor will probably not stay outside for much longer because she has his jacket, she takes off her shirts and quickly washes her upper body before putting just the hide one back on. The fabric shirt is soaked with sweat from earlier so she washes it and lays it to dry beside Connor's jacket near the fire. She remembers her coat still hanging outside and retrieves it, peeking over the railing to see if Connor is still sitting by the river. The rock is empty, its dark surface standing out against the blue white of the snow and the trampled area where she had joined him so she hurries back inside, assuming he is probably on the trail up to the cabin. Grabbing the pail Connor usually uses to hold ice in, she dumps most of the water into the pot by the fire and brings it outside to fill with snow.

When Connor at last opens the door to the cabin, Catherine is at the table with a cup of tea, her back to the window facing the porch. Her left elbow is on the table and her head is propped on her hand. The purple welts from the bow string are dark against the paleness of her bare skin. Connor leans against the wall with one hand and takes off his boots, being careful not to tip his head forward. When he starts toward the fire, Catherine gets up and gathers up her shirt and his jacket, taking them to hang on pegs to finish drying. Returning to where he is now sitting on his bedroll that he never put away that morning, Catherine stands at the head of it looking down at him. She drops gracefully to her knees at the head of his bedroll and reaches to his shoulder, tugging at the sleeve until he leans toward her.

"Lie down on your back," she commands.  Connor slowly complies and Catherine shifts so that he can rest his head on her crossed calves.  He wonders what it is she wants of him now. Feeling much better with his head down, he closes his eyes and bends his knees up, resting his feet on the mat comfortably and bringing his right hand onto his stomach. He opens his eyes again when he hears the sounds of water dripping. Above his head, Catherine is leaning toward the pail on the hearth with her left arm extended toward it. Turning his head toward where Catherine is reaching, he watches as she brings a wrung out rag towards his face. The warm fingers of her right hand touch his forehead to guide his head over towards the right and she lays the rag lightly over his nose. It is ice cold but it starts to relieve the throbbing pain in his face almost immediately. He sighs and closes his eyes again.

"Thad feels good, WildCad."

"I'm glad." She softly strokes his hair with her hands, tucking a section behind his ear and moving the beaded braid out of the way before idly moving her fingers through the hair on the sides of his head. It is thick and soft and she slowly runs her fingers down the length of it.  She checks the temperature of the rag on his face and exchanges it for one that has been sitting in the bucket of slush. Connor's breathing is steady and even and eventually he extends his legs out and crosses his ankles. Some of the lines smooth in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes as he relaxes. After exchanging the rags several times, she lets the last one take on the temperature of his skin, slowly stroking his hair the whole time. His breathing deepens and Catherine slows the movement of her hands in his hair to soothe him further, only stopping when she is sure he is asleep.


	10. Truth

Truth

Connor wakes in the early afternoon to his aching nose throbbing in pain. Catherine is no longer sitting at his head, though he remembers the feeling of her fingers in his hair and against his scalp, her touch drawing out his tension and lulling him into a restful state. In jagged contrast to what he had felt on his skin, her actions deeply disturb him. He had terrorized her, shouted at her, made her run from him in fear. In return she had come back to him, submissively seeking him out to clean his wounds, apologize and touch him as softly as a lover. It is bizarre and unsettling that she would react in that way after being treated so harshly by him. Possibly even more upsetting is that he had allowed her to behave like that, accepting her fawning as if it were the correct way of things when it is most definitely not. She should spurn him, hate him even, for what he has done and he feels guilty and horrid for it. Reaching for the bucket of slush, he finds the water cold but not icy as he had hoped. He sighs and thinks that it is of no consequence because a brute such as he does not deserve relief from well deserved pain.

For the rest of the afternoon after Catherine's first lesson in defending herself, Connor is withdrawn and quiet. He barely looks at her but when he does, his eyes are pained. Catherine does not intrude on his hunched silence, understanding his need to look inward though unaware of the real reason; she is completely blind to the intensity of Connor's self loathing. it is when Catherine starts to gather together the things she needs to cook food for them that Connor finally breaks his silence.

"You do not need to slave for me." His voice is uncharacteristically gruff and it startles Catherine. She looks up at him as she crosses the cabin.

"I'm not your slave. I'm merely making us dinner." She continues walking but Connor steps toward her, intercepting her and blocking her path to the fireplace with his body, causing her to slow her pace and finally stop.

"I will do it." He insists. Catherine tilts her head and looks quizzically at him, confused by his persistence.

"No.  You're hurt. You shouldn't move your head so much, you might start bleeding again." Connor brings his left hand to his forehead and sweeps it down to the side with an irate scoff.

"It is nothing!" They lock eyes where they stand facing each other in front of the fireplace and Catherine can't understand why Connor is so irritated with her. His attitude is seemingly unfounded and she becomes defensive.

"It's not nothing! I hit you hard. It… it wasn't you I saw before me…." To her consternation, Connor seems to become even angrier when her words falter and become contrite.

"Do not apologize! I made you do it. I _forced_ you. Save your pity for those who deserve it."  Connor crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin.  Catherine is taken aback by his vehement insistence that he wronged her.  He is harder on himself than necessary, but Sonehso:wa did say he has strange ideas of honor at times. She cannot stop the cynical snort that comes out with her exhalation.

"Is that what you think happened today? You're wrong. I _asked_ you to do what you did. You made certain I knew what was involved. Don't you _dare_ pretend that I'm some… victim because I'm not.  Not this time." Catherine punctuates her sentences with her shoulders, raising them and jostling the items she carries in her arms. Her conviction as she stands before him, looking up at his face and shaking her head as she speaks, breaks through the wall Connor had put up to keep her at bay.

Connor's shoulders lose their bunched rigidity and drop down to a more relaxed posture. His piercing gaze and half frown recede, leaving him looking drawn out and exhausted more than anything else. It is evident he is dealing with Catherine's request to train her poorly. She shifts the items in her arms until she can free one hand. She touches his elbow and looks up at him before moving around him, letting her hand fall as she does. She leans down and puts what she had collected on the hearth before positioning herself on the bear hide. She looks up at him and pats the hide next to her, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth, hoping it will disarm him the rest of the way.

Connor looks down at Catherine, her upturned face no longer appearing full of pity, but rather compassion. Such a beautiful woman she is, so small yet carrying the resolve of a giant. He can still barely stand to look at her for too long knowing that he deliberately overpowered her and will do so again before long. Yet here she sits, absolving him of culpability for what did. Whether it is with her permission or not, the weight is uneasy on his shoulders and despite agreeing to teach her, he knows he will struggle with the responsibility until it is over. He settles down beside her with a sigh of resignation and together they make dinner.

xxx

The next morning is a repeat of Catherine's intense nausea, though at least this time her arm does not add to her misery. When she returns from the porch, Connor is waiting for her, sitting on his mat and scrutinizing her in silence. His nose is surprisingly not as bruised as she had expected it to be from his injury and he speaks nothing of it, leaving to hunt shortly after eating breakfast. Once she feels better Catherine practices her balance, running and jumping on the bridges Connor had built. She is still pacing back and forth on one of the bridges when she catches sight of Connor sloshing through the decaying snow on his way back from hunting. She hadn't heard his footsteps over the sounds of the waterfall.  The snow partly melts during the day, freezing over at night only to repeat the process the following day. It has become slushy underfoot and large, icy puddles have formed in some lower dips in the landscape. The melting runoff has swollen the river to a tumultuous rush of power that charges over the cliff and crashes far below, overflowing the banks of the river and filling the gorge with choppy water that slaps against the rock walls containing it. An entire tree had been torn out by its roots from somewhere up above and thrown over the waterfall where it has lodged itself against the submerged boulders. The water had risen behind it until it rushed over in a mighty, frothing arc.

Connor approaches Catherine where she stands on the branch, her feet curled over the curve of the wood. He has no game to show for his efforts. Catherine suspects he simply needs distance from her despite their strange compromise the evening before. He appears noticeably calmer and even offers up a small smile when he gets closer. In the sun, the shadow of a bruise darkens the left side of his nose and curves under his left eye in a thin line of murky purple. When he is close enough, he places his foot on the bridge and shakes it. Catherine balances on it, raising her arms out to the side and bending her knees. The smile on his face becomes mischievous and he steps up onto the branch and bounces on it. Catherine lets out a squeal, partly in offense but more in enjoyment, maintaining her balance until he stops.

"I am happy to see you practicing."  Connor says with approval.  

"And I suppose I should be happy you see fit to try to shake me off."

"I am only trying to make you better." He jumps down and motions with his hand for her to follow him. She joins him as he walks over toward the cabin where he removes his bow and quiver, depositing them on the porch along with his hatchet.

"I will teach you more ways to get away from an attacker today." At his words, a flash of worry crosses Catherine's face.

"I will not make you hit me in the face this time," he says kindly.  Catherine nods and follows him when he walks to the open space in front of the porch.

"If someone grabs you from behind, you have more than one option depending on how he does it." Connor moves behind Catherine and places his hands on her shoulders.

"If this is how you are attacked, bring both your elbows back and hit him in the ribs. At the same time, stomp on his foot with your heel as hard as you can." He tightens his hands on her shoulders and drags back on her. Catherine, having learned her lesson on hesitation from the previous day's exercise, immediately swings her elbows back. She misses his foot with her stomp but both her elbows come into contact with Connor's ribs and he lets out a short, muffled grunt.

Connor, too, is ready for her attack and has tightened his abdomen to reduce any chance of actually getting injured. He releases her shoulders and she runs forward from him and onto the porch.

"Good. You did not hesitate." Connor nods with satisfaction. Catherine comes back and he places his hands on her shoulders again.

"If you are not released after you hit your attacker, bend your knees and bring your arms straight up. That will break the grip your attacker has on you so you can run away." Catherine turns so Connor can grasp her shoulders but his grip is tighter than the first, making her gasp. Again she reels her elbows back and hits Connor's ribs. This time her heel does not miss. Connor steps back and loosens his grab slightly on her and she lets her body fall almost to the ground. She only has to raise her arms partway before she no longer feels Connor's grip on her. Dropping to her knees, she scrambles forward and runs to the porch again. When she turns, seeking his approval, Connor nods at her.

Connor moves closer to the cabin and has Cat stand facing it.

"If you are grabbed from behind and you can push off of something with your legs, you can often throw your attacker off balance enough to make him fall and release you." As Catherine is nodding her understanding, Connor wraps his arms around her waist and arms over her elbows and lifts her off the ground. She struggles and squirms, flailing her legs. Connor's face is beside her ear when he speaks.

"No, stop panicking! You need to be able to think and see what is around you." Catherine hangs limply from his arms, her heart racing. Connor moves a step closer to the cabin and Catherine swings her legs up and pushes off the log wall. Her attempt is weak and Connor barely steps backwards.

"It didn't work!  You still have me!"  Catherine's voice is tight with barely contained panic.  

"Try pushing off the wall again. Do it harder this time." He tightens his arms and Catherine kicks upward and heaves with all her strength in her legs. Connor falls backward with Catherine and when they hit the ground, his body protects her from the impact and he releases her. Catherine rolls away and gets to her feet.

"You let me go. How will I know I can really escape if you let me go?"

"I am showing you first and later I will test you." Catherine nods, frustration clear on her face, and steps closer to him once again silently so Connor can continue.

"Anything you can do to free yourself is good, but you have to be calm. If you only struggle wildly, you will lower the chance of escaping but a clear headed, intentional move like striking backwards with your head, a kick, a drop down or an attack like you did yesterday will be much more effective. You can punch or grab for the groin but I hope you can understand why I do not want to practice that one." He steps behind her and places his arms so they are around her waist but leave her arms free. "Now you have the opportunity to reach back, grab for my eyes or ears, as well as try any of the other moves. To stop me from picking you up, you can hook your ankles around my legs."

He tightens his arms around her waist and starts to lift, but when she hooks her ankles as he had instructed, he fails to lift her. He even gives an extra hard tug just to prove that he isn't going easy on her. Letting her go, he turns her around, bringing his arms around her and over her elbows again. He pulls her to his chest. Not for the first time, Connor wishes he could be free of this macabre simulation. He is rushing through the lessons and he forces himself to slow down.

"This puts you in perfect position to aim for my groin with your knee or your hands." He quickly releases her, feeling phantom pain in his genitals just thinking about sustaining injury there. "You would be able to free yourself easily from any man with that tactic." Catherine notices Connor's obvious discomfort at the subject matter. He clears his throat and continues.

"The best way to avoid any of this is to not get caught in the first place. If you know you are going to be grabbed from behind, move your arms out from your body and lean forward so it is harder for your attacker to pin your arms or wrap their hands around you." Catherine nods and Connor mulls over whether he should bring her inside and continue.  "Do you want to learn one more? It could be… reminiscent of your capture so I understand if you do not want to yet."

Catherine's stomach drops and she considers his question.

"One more is fine."

"I will stop if it is too upsetting." His face is serious.  Catherine's stomach feels even worse and she wonders what he is going to do.  "Come inside."

With all her might, Catherine represses the urge to rescind her agreement. Her heart flutters in her chest.  Once they are inside, Connor lies down in the middle of the floor, his feet facing the bed and his head towards the fireplace. Catherine stands looking down at him while he speaks.

"If someone manages to get you down on your back and they are going to… assault you…" He looks up at her to gauge her expression. Her face is neutral until he hesitates on his choice of words. Only her lip twitches but her breathing is faster than normal.

"… raise your legs up as they approach and use your strength to push them off and to the side." He demonstrates with his legs and then looks at her carefully. "Do you want to practice this?" Catherine's heart is racing as memories well up, clogging her mind. Using every ounce of her strength, she contains them and focuses on staying calm. Connor sits up and crosses his legs. He raises his right hand to her and she takes it with her left, allowing him to guide her down to sit across from him on the floor.

"WildCat, is this upsetting you?" He squeezes her hand and she looks up. She takes a deep breath and squeezes back.

"Yes."  She breathes deeply and then continues.  "But I need to do this."

"Very well." Connor stays seated while Catherine lies down on the floor beside him. He waits until she turns her gaze to him from the ceiling and nods her assent before getting up. Moving to her feet and watching Catherine's face for the first sign of fear, he kneels and takes her ankles in his hands, sliding her feet up until her knees are bent and her boots are flat on the floor. He shimmies forward on his knees and raises her feet up to place them against his chest.

"Your legs are your strongest muscles, especially since you ride so much. Use them to your advantage in this situation. Push against me." Catherine pushes and Connor leans into her pressure. The more he leans, the harder she pushes until he raises his knees off the floor. "Push me to the side." Catherine swings her legs and dumps Connor onto the floor. Connor sits back up and looks carefully at Catherine.

"Now you have to be able to do that faster." He moves back to her feet and straightens her legs out. Rising to his feet, he stands over her. "I am attacking you." He starts to drop down as if he is going to kneel over her and Catherine bends her knees up and knocks him aside.

"Good. Faster this time" He moves quickly, not even standing completely before starting to drop down on her again. Once again she throws him aside. He rolls onto his stomach and looks up at her. His expression is serious and he raises an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"I'm alright still." she assures him.  Connor nods and stands. Suddenly he moves to her side, grabs her wrists and hauls her roughly to her feet. Catherine's eyes open wide and she gasps.

"What are you doing?" Catherine screams.  Without responding, Connor pushes her backwards toward the bed and throws her down on it. Her body bounces on the mattress, her knees falling open to the sides as her heels bang into the wooden frame. While she is still in motion, Connor lunges toward her. Catherine only just manages to bring her feet up in time to prevent him from getting on top of her. Letting out another half scream as she throws him to the right, her redirection is so powerful that she rolls completely on her side and almost joins him on the floor beside the bed. Quickly flipping herself to the left, she flees the bed and runs to the door, fumbling with the latch before she can regain control of her fear. She leans her forehead against the door, breathing fast. After she calms down, she looks over her shoulder towards the bed.

Connor has settled himself against the wall, sitting similarly to when they had had their first long conversation before he cleaned her back. His elbows are propped on his bent knees and his head is back against the wall. He looks over at her and when their eyes meet Catherine calls to him from the door.

"Let's not practice that one again." Her voice is tremulous.  Connor shakes his head in agreement and raises his hands up to his head, tearing the tie from his short ponytail and rubbing his fingers into his hair. He stays with his head supported in his hands for a while, grimacing and rubbing his temples and scalp.

"I should have dropped." Catherine calls over to him from the door again.  Connor looks up and lowers his hands from his head.  His disheveled hair falls down over his cheeks.

"Dropped…" he trails off, confused.  Catherine pushes herself away from the door and starts to walk toward him.  She gestures to herself.

"Me. I should have dropped to the floor when you first picked me up. It would have been harder for you to drag me to the bed." Connor nods as Catherine sits down beside him against the wall. He turns his face forward again and rests his head back, stoic. Catherine picks up the red tie Connor had discarded on the floor beside his legs and twiddles with it, untying the knot and winding it around her fingers.

"What… went though your mind when you did that to me?" she asks.  Connor turns to look at her with a horrified expression on his face.  Catherine fixes her eyes steadily on his.

"I wondered if I had gone too far and you would never forgive me for it.  My actions were that of a disgusting man." His face carries a mix of anger, sadness, worry and torment.  

"You would only have been unforgivably disgusting if you'd actually been trying to rape me," Catherine assures him.  Connor scoffs and turns his face forward again.

"It is disgusting to pretend. I saw fear in your eyes. It looked real to me." his voice is gruff and low.  Catherine is quiet for a moment.

"It was real. But I still succeeded. That's all that matters."

"How…?" Connor trails off and turns to face Catherine again before continuing his sentence. "… how can you sit here next to me then? If you had not succeeded, I would have been on top of you, no better than any man who violates a woman for sport."

"Because your intent _wasn't_ to violate me.  It was to _teach_ me, just as when you made me hit you.  And this time it was… easier to calm down afterwards."  Connor's face contorts at her response.

"What happened the last time?" His eyes are dark and demanding.  Catherine hesitates.

"I don't want to tell you."  At last she answers.  She looks away towards the fireplace.  

"WildCat…"  Connor gently nudges her arm with his elbow.

"No! You'll just be angry with yourself. It's not important."

"It is to me."  His grave seriousness draws Catherine back to look at him but she still argues.

"Why, so you can berate yourself about it? How would you feel if I demanded to know in great detail just how badly your nose hurt after I hit you and then wept pathetically over it for hours?" To Catherine's surprise, Connor's mouth twitches into a smile and he drops his head to look at the floor. He raises it again, still smiling as he shakes his head and catches Catherine's eyes. She frowns at him.  "It's not funny! You're too hard on yourself!"  Catherine nervously tugs on the ends of Connor's hair tie in her hands.

"Would you weep pathetically over my nose?" Connor asks with a smile on his face.  Despite her last statement, Catherine finds herself laughing softly at his question. She schools her face to seriousness.

"Only if it was broken and hideous."

"I am relieved you think it is still pretty." He faces the bed and feels the bridge of his nose gently with the fingers of his left hand. Catherine turns her upper body toward him, placing her right hand on his arm. The red tie is looped over her thumb. Connor's hand freezes and he looks down at where she touches his arm.

"Oh, Connor. I never said it's pretty…" Catherine's voice is mockingly serious and she shakes her head with innocent solemnity. Connor raises his gaze from her hand to her face and narrows his eyes. Catherine can no longer withhold her amusement and breaks into a smile again. Dropping his left hand on top of hers on his arm, Connor smiles in return.

"At least you are honest." He takes her hand and moves his right arm up and out from between them, straightening his right leg and drawing her closer until their sides are touching. To Connor's delight, Catherine rests her head on the front of his shoulder. He curls his right hand down onto her side where it settles comfortably into the curve of her waist. Bringing her hand to his face, he kisses the tips of her fingers before lowering their hands to his leg. He could sit like this forever if she would let him and he has a growing sense of certainty that she would. 

Catherine looks down at his left hand cradling hers. His palm and fingers are calloused from years of weapon use and there is a large faded scar across the back. Veins stand out under his skin and shift when he moves his fingers. Using both her hands, she lightly traces the lines of his veins and follows the scar.  Catherine explores his skin, his fingers giving way to her touch as she bends and straightens them idly. At last she lets her left hand rest inside his cupped palm, his thumb describing light circles over the side of her wrist, Connor's hair tie forgotten where it fell onto the floor at some point.

xxx

Catherine can no longer ignore the reason she needs to run to the porch every time she wakes up. Connor had not followed her outside after the first time, though he was awake and watching her this morning, the same as yesterday, when she returned. She is noticing more frequent waves of subtle nausea in the late morning and early evening, usually when she has not eaten for a while. Finally, after Connor leaves again to hunt, she sits down at the table to concentrate. Counting back, she arrives at eleven for the number of days she has been here with Connor. He had rescued her on the eighth of February. She had started her monthly courses only four days after her marriage to Francisco, which would be the sixth of January. Her hands shake as she realizes she is two weeks late for her menses. She thought it was just stress; the nausea and exhaustion, her emotional ups and downs, her aching breasts. Her breasts had hurt a lot from the abuse of her captors and she had done her best to ignore the constant pain. Now, she recalls the past two days of running and jumping from one bridge to another, how much her breasts had hurt from the movement and even that she had used her hands to support them a couple of times. She presses a hand to one and flinches at her heightened awareness of them.

A different kind of nausea fills her stomach. This is beyond any doubt the worst thing that could result from what she has been through. It is worse even than the emotional pain of remembering her abuse. To have part of her _merged_ with that of one of her captors… it's an atrocity. Being made to grow this thing inside of her, birth it and raise it is a violation of her body far worse than being raped, worse than even death itself. Death would have been a mercy compared to having to look upon the product of such horror daily. She will be reminded of the men and what they did to her for the rest of her life. _Dear God, what if it looks like whichever man it was who filled me with his get?_ It would not even be so bad if it had been Francisco's child. At least it would have been the result of her husband's sexual act and not that of a stranger's whose only goal was to inflict pain and merciless degradation upon her. _Oh, God, please do not let it be the one with the whip; please, God, if there is any mercy…_  Catherine's head spins and she feels herself slipping, becoming unhinged from any sense of reality. She reaches to her deceptively flat stomach and places both hands on it, looking down at her splayed fingers and whispering to the tiny bit of life that is tearing down the fragile vestiges of hope that had remained in her.

"Where are you, you little bastard? I would pinch out your life before it can progress any farther if I could just reach you... I could _never_ love you and this world has no place for you." She presses the tips of her fingers into her skin until it hurts and then presses harder. She gasps from the pain and takes her hands away, pulling up her shirt and dragging down the waist of her pants so she can stare at the ten red spots she has left on her abdomen. Falling back against the chair, she lets her head tip backwards as she closes her eyes. Her heart races and a frightening level of anger fills her. Leaping out of her chair, she turns and kicks it backwards. It merely tips onto the floor, seeming to mock her weakness.

"God dammit! Why?" Catherine screams at the chair and fights to hold in her nausea until it becomes apparent that she will not be able to any longer. Running for the door, she flings it open and falls to her knees at the railing, emptying what little had been in her stomach over the edge of the cliff until there is truly nothing left. Still she retches, as if she could turn herself inside out and purge her body of its intruder by force. Clenching her fists on the railing, she digs her nails into her palms and gasps from the pain of her skin breaking under their edges. She presses her mouth to the railing. If she screams, Connor will hear her and she cannot face him with this awful truth. The thought of having to tell him frightens her. He's been willing to set aside what was done to her but how could he overlook this? This is a tangible, very real thing that will impact her life in ways far beyond mere physical and emotional scarring. _I_ _need to leave here!_   _I cannot burden him with this!_   _It's too much to ask of a man who barely knows me..._ Her heart clenches and she gasps out a sob, knowing she will be leaving behind the first man to ever have shown her true caring and compassion. Clutching two fistfuls of her hair on the sides of her scalp, she bows her head to her knees and strangles on her suppressed screams. She really thought she could have a future with him. But this child… no, this _thing_ inside of her has destroyed all of that. She can't let her scandalous downfall affect Connor's life. For all his concern for her and their growing affinity, there is no way he could forgive such a repellent monstrosity. She can't even forgive herself, her own body, for betraying her with such perverse and irrevocable permanence.

Back inside, Catherine crawls into the bed and lies on her stomach with her face pressed into the pillow. Her body is wracked by sobs and she curls up onto her side when they abate, only to cycle back into a rage at the shallow reason she is in this situation to begin with. She clutches the feather pillow to her face and screams into it until she is breathless and hoarse, and the fabric is cold and damp with her bitter tears. No action on her part feels adequate to expel her torment. If she could just scream louder, punch harder, hurt worse, she could get away somehow. But every effort she makes smacks of hollowness and futility, for she is still pregnant and very much condemned.

Connor trudges through the wet snow to the cabin, more successful than he had been in days.  He carries a brace of rabbits and a winter fox, its fur still brilliant white with a black tipped tail. He is looking forward to giving Catherine the fox and suggesting that she make something pleasing for herself from the fur. Inside, he is surprised to see a chair tipped onto the floor and Catherine in bed. Stealthily, he moves closer to look at her sleeping form and his unease increases when he sees her puffy, reddened eyelids and ruddy cheeks. She had clearly been crying. Connor's heart sinks, thinking that all of his lessons had finally caught up with her and taken her back to her weeks of captivity. If so, she had had to suffer through those memories alone. If only he could be sure that she would not become afraid he would crawl into the bed with her and take her in his arms to soothe her pain away. When she shifts, she reaches her right hand to the pillow next to her head, unfurling her fingers to reveal four half-moon shaped red marks crossing her palm. Reaching over her body, he lowers the blanket until her other hand is revealed to him. With the gentlest touch he can manage, he uncurls her fingers and discovers identical marks. She moans hoarsely and pulls away, tugging at the covers. Connor frowns and pulls them up for her.

Catherine stays buried under the blankets in bed until the evening, unwilling to eat or tell Connor what happened. He crosses the room at last, no longer able to endure her intractable silence.

"WildCat, I am worried about you. Why will you not get out of bed?" He stands by the bed looking down at Catherine where she lies curled on her side with her back towards him.

"I'm sick," is her only response. Connor walks to the other side of the bed so that he can see her face and places his hands on the mattress, leaning closer to her and resting one knee on the side of the bed. In response, Catherine squeezes her eyes shut and draws the covers up over her chin with her hands.  "Connor, please don't. Just leave me alone."

"I have left you alone all day. Something is wrong and I cannot help you unless you talk to me." He crawls forward on the bed and sits on it, his legs crossed beneath him. Catherine opens her eyes and stares blankly at his right knee near her face with scratchy eyes and a heavy heart. As she stares, Connor brings his elbow down onto it and rests his head on his hand, watching her. His persistence is admirable but she knows he will only turn away in disgust once he knows her dreadful secret.  He reaches his left hand toward her cheek. "Tell me what is wrong."  

Catherine jerks her head away from his hand, rolling to her other side and turning her back to Connor.

"Everything!  Everything is wrong! Please…. Leave me be." Connor sighs and removes himself from the bed, returning to the fire to sit and reflect on what could be going on with Catherine. Why has she suddenly turned from him when only the day before they had been talking openly and laughing together? He has no answers when he finally tries to sleep. He wakes often in the night to the sounds of Catherine's muffled weeping and restless tossing in the bed.

In the morning, Catherine is once again compelled to fling herself out of bed and dash outside. In her haste, she is careless about keeping quiet and the door bangs against the side of the cabin, coming to rest partway open. Her nausea merely compounds the horrible confirmation of her pregnancy. She gags painfully, her stomach having nothing to give yet refusing to settle. As her spasms subside, she rests her head on her arms and leans on the railing with her eyes closed. The wood is cold on her skin with the mist that occasionally drifts over to the cabin from the gorge.  Unable to bear the thought of carrying the spawn of one of those horrible men inside her, she gives in once again to useless tears. Wracked by sobs, she slowly makes her way to the single step down from the porch, trailing her hand along the damp railing. All thoughts of staying with Connor have been swept from her mind, no longer a possibility now that she is sure of the fate that awaits her. With her right hand holding the last support post of the porch, she steps down into the snow and turns, her bare feet breaking through the thin crust of ice that had formed overnight. A second step brings her to the edge of the cliff. Looking down, the water roils wildly with the runoff of melting snow from the surrounding area. She knows she would never be able to swim in the maelstrom of rapids far below her, fed by the roaring waterfall to her right.  Closing her eyes, she opens her hand on the beam and starts to lower her arm to her side. As she does, she thinks of leaning forward to allow gravity to gently guide her downwards and free her from the ruin of her life.

A vice-like grip closes on her wrist and her entire body is jerked violently away from the cliff edge. Catherine's eyes open wide as she collides with Connor.  He quickly locks his left arm around her body and takes a step back toward the cabin, dragging her with him.  With a guttural cry, she struggles against him, her right wrist still tightly held by him. Lifting her feet off the ground, she attempts to slip out from under his left arm. It only partially works, her shirt rucking up under her breasts and his arm slipping up from her waist while she kicks and writhes.

Connor takes a handful of her shirt and twists it in his fist against the right side of her ribcage, stopping her from sliding further despite her spastic struggles. If he had been only a moment slower, he could have lost her, and his mind races in horror. _How could I have been so careless?_ She was obviously withdrawing from him for a reason yesterday. Now he knows it is because she had lost her will to live. His stomach is sick at the thought. Backing up onto the porch, he releases her wrist and brings his right arm around her waist to further secure her. The bare skin of her stomach is warm and soft under his palm, smoother than the finest silk and animated with her rapid breathing and shifting muscles as she struggles. Connor is further sickened when he thinks of her crushed under the weight of the rushing river, her skin growing cold and her sparkling eyes becoming dull and lifeless. Catherine reaches back and manages to take two handfuls of Connor's hair from her awkward position low on his chest but he drags his head back before she can grab it tightly enough to pull. She puts her feet on the railing and pushes off with a scream, slamming Connor backwards into the cabin wall and making him exhale in a rush. His grip loosens momentarily but he tightens it again, knowing that she will use what he has taught her against him.

"Let me go!" she screams.

"I will _not_." Connor's voice is gravelly. Despite his angry tone, a profound distress bleeds through in his words. Catherine briefly struggles again, digging at his arms with her fingernails, but his hands tighten on her side and in the handful of her twisted shirt until she subsides. She looks at the floor, panting, her head turned partly away from Connor. His feet are bare where they flank hers on the deck. He pushes off the wall and resumes bringing her into the cabin. Her body is damp with sweat and her back sticks to Connor's skin, the contact tugging with each of his steps. As he sidles through the door with her and approaches the nearest chair with the clear intent to sit her down, she picks her feet up and tries to drop through his arms once more. It drives him to raise his voice at her.

"Stop! This is madness!" Catherine's only reply is to push off the table with her feet, slamming it against the side of the cabin where it stops short and the remaining force in her legs pushes them both backwards.  She quickly wraps her ankles around Connor's legs as he steps back, tripping him. He goes down with a shout and a crash, releasing her to break his fall onto the wood floor. Catherine rolls off of him to the left onto her hands and knees and starts to crawl towards the open door but just as she is about to get to her feet, Connor grabs her ankles and drags her back toward him. He straddles her and reaches forward, taking her wrists and dropping most of his body weight onto her back, flattening her to the floor completely. She screams through clenched teeth, the sound starting low and then rising to a piercing high. Bending her elbows against her resistance, he brings her wrists tightly to the sides of her shoulders. Her hands are balled into fists so tight her knuckles are bloodless and white. In case she is tempted to rear her head back, Connor makes sure he keeps his face turned far towards her shoulder. Kicking her feet, Catherine only manages to graze his thighs with her heels, though her struggles are surprisingly strong, even under most of his considerable weight. Connor is breathing slightly faster from the exertion but Catherine is panting rapidly between screams and her neck is covered in beads of sweat.

"What spirits have _taken_ you, woman?" Connor has to shout to be heard.  Catherine struggles to breathe under his weight so he lifts himself slightly.  Between gasps of air, Catherine finally answers him.

"I'm not possessed! You can't save me from this!  Let me end it now!"

"End what? Your life? Never!"

"I'm a burden already!  This only makes things worse! I can spare you from it if you just let me!"

"You want to spare me? By allowing me to find your broken and drowned body caught in the river like driftwood?  I'll _never_ allow that." Connor's voice is ragged with frustration but Catherine stays silent.  Connor softens his voice.  "Are you done with this foolishness now?"

Catherine writhes again, pushing against his grip on her wrists and renewing her kicking and high pitched groans of effort. Her muscles slacken when he lets more of his weight back down onto her until she struggles to breathe. He does not want to hurt her but this is the only way he can keep her from killing herself. Every exhalation comes from her with a heavy moan as his weight presses the air from her.

"I will stay like this all day if you keep on fighting," her promises.  In spite of his warning, he hopes she does not, as he needs to empty his bladder sometime soon.  He hates the idea of it, but if he has to restrain her with tethers, he'll do it.  

"It's the only way for me now...  the only way to stop what has begun in me." is her only quiet response. Connor shakes his head, sure now of why she had so abruptly cut herself off from him.

"I will not allow you to kill yourself just because you are pregnant." All the fight leaves her body with a ragged moan and she sags into the floor. Connor releases his grip on her wrists and raises himself up to his hands and knees. He watches the blood rush back into her hands and the marks of his grip on her wrists darken from white to crimson.  Catherine lies beneath him, motionless aside from her sobbing breaths, her hair spread out over her back and across the floor. Moving to the side, he walks to the door and shuts it, keeping an eye on Catherine the whole time lest she try to run for it. Instead of getting up, she rolls onto her right side and drags her knees up toward her chest, tucking her right arm beneath her head and her other down against her stomach. Her shirt is still bunched up, exposing a large portion of her back, including several inches of her dark pink scar where it curves from her spine to her hip. Connor squats by the fireplace and gets the fire going to try to replace some warmth in the cabin. When he returns to Catherine, he kneels by her back on the floor, his knees towards her head.

"How did you know?" Her voice is a hoarse whisper. Connor speaks softly and gently in response.

"I am not blind, WildCat. I have seen you showing the signs, the most obvious of them your regular sickness." Catherine heaves an enormous sigh when he finishes speaking.

"I can't do it. I can't raise the child of one of my rapists. It will only be a reminder of... of _everything_!" Her voice cracks and Connor reaches over Catherine's curled body and places his left hand on the floor. With his right, he gently moves her raised shoulder back until it is almost on the floor. Her left hand rests on the top of his left knee while her legs remain turned to the right. Catherine keeps her head turned away from Connor, her hair looped across her chest and neck, tangled and wild from their struggles. Connor leans on his left hand and gently moves her hair off of her face with the fingers of his right hand.

"What about your husband? Could it be his?" he asks.  She shakes her head.

"It isn't his. I had my monthly courses only days after the wedding. It's one of _theirs_. Does it even matter? How could I ever love it, no matter who put it in me?"

"Because half of that child will be _you_." Connor strokes her cheek.

"I don't know if that's enough…"

"Of course it is. You are a fighter and stronger than you think you are. Where is the woman who used to speak of riding in the woods and feeling free? Where is my fiery, determined WildCat who said she would weep for my broken nose? There is so much good in you it can outweigh anything the child may inherit."

"That part of me is dead now." She presses her right fist to her stomach.

"No. It is still here. I have seen too much of it to believe that it could just disappear." Connor touches his fingers to her sternum and continues.  "And that is what you will encourage in your child. What _we_ will encourage."

Catherine turns her face toward him and shakes her head, her eyebrows drawing together and a tear running down her face. Her eyes have taken on the brilliant turquoise hue created by the redness surrounding her irises.

"You're crazy if you think anyone would believe this child is yours. My rapists were all white men. One even had blond hair and blue eyes. What if he's the one who got me pregnant? I won't saddle you with a child from another man. It's unfair and wrong."

"Being a father does not mean sharing blood or having the same skin, hair or eye color. I experienced that first hand with Achilles. I viewed him as a father and it did not matter that he was African and I what I am. I will happily be the father of this child if it means being with you."

"It's an abomination, Connor! _I don't want it!_ " Catherine nearly screams as she bangs her right fist on the floor.  "How can you possibly be willing to raise another man's bastard child? A man who beat and raped this thing into me." Her voice rises in pitch and her body quakes with grief where she lies.  Connor softly shushes her and strokes her cheek.  He waits until some of her panting sobs subside before answering her. 

"Whichever one it was, he is long dead from my blade. The seed he put in you is only that; a seed. You are the one who can make it grow into something good and kind." Connor takes her head in his hands and wipes her tears with his thumbs. "Have you forgotten that I am a bastard? Does that make you think any less of me?" He watches her shake her head.

"It's still rape," she says, her voice a hoarse croak.

"But it is also still a child.  An _innocent_ child who never asked for this and all he needs is love.  We can give that much."  Catherine closes her eyes and nods.  Connor needs more than that though.  "Promise me you will never try to kill yourself again." He watches as she swallows hard but remains silent.  "Please... say it to me, WildCat."  

Catherine opens her eyes and finds Connor looking right back at her with more earnesty than she can handle.  The intensity of his gaze is almost painful and something tears open inside of her heart.  She realizes that she doesn't want to die when Connor so ferociously wants her and her unborn child to live.

"I promise." She whispers, her lips trembling. She closes her eyes and knows her future is sealed.  Connor exhales in relief and observes Catherine's face cradled in his hands. Tears continue to seep from her closed eyelids and she opens her mouth to take in a shaking breath. Leaning down, Connor brings his lips to Catherine's forehead and places a soft kiss just below her hairline. Her body stills and she breathes shallowly. Slowly, he moves his thumbs, wiping her tears from the sides of her face and kissing each of her closed eyes in turn, her salty tears wetting his lips. With gentle pressure, he tips her face back with his palms on her cheeks and lowers his mouth to hers. She passively lets him kiss her and though she does not return it, her lips become flushed and warm from his attention. Raising her hands to his elbows, she curls her fingers against his skin. Connor draws back and slides his hands down her upper arms. He whispers to her.

"Come to me." Catherine firmly grips Connor's elbows and he raises her from the floor, wrapping his arms protectively around her body. Catherine rests her left cheek against his chest and her left hip against his. His right hand is low on her curving back and side, his palm, wrist and forearm resting against her exposed skin. The unnatural smoothness of healing skin covering her long scar is beneath his fingers and he runs them along its terrible length. With his left hand, he rakes his fingers into her hair next to her face and holds her head pressed to his chest. Her hair is cool and damp from sweat and tears.

After Connor has held her for a long time, her trembling ceases and her heart starts to return to its normal pace, almost echoing the cadence of his against her ear. The familiar scent of his body is stronger than ever with her face pressed directly against his warm skin. It fills her nose and she breathes deeply of it, taking it in as an additional measure of comfort. Connor tugs the bottom of her crumpled shirt down and then runs his hand up her back. When he reaches her right shoulder, he gently pushes her away from him, tipping her head back with his left hand in her hair. At the same time, he lowers his face and presses his forehead against hers with his lips hovering so near her mouth, the warmth of them sends a thrill through her. While his earlier kiss had surprised her and left her unable to move, the proximity of his lips and the heat of them has broken open a dam, releasing a flood of sensation that sends bolts of awareness coursing through her body, running down her limbs and settling in her most sensitive places. Every sensation is magnified: the soft wisp of fabric over her skin, the warmth of their bodies at every point of contact, the minute shift of Connor's hand in her hair as they breathe quietly together.  So heightened are her senses that even the silent breaths leaving Connor's nose as he waits close, so close, move like a feather over her lips.  It's a building wave of physicality in the wake of overwhelming emotion that is too much to bear.

Tightening her hands on his elbows, Catherine opens her eyes. Connor's eyes are already open and he looks deeply into hers, asking with all the silent strength he can muster. A tremor runs through her under his amber gaze and she closes her eyes and raises her chin just enough to let his lips touch hers. His fingers travel farther into her hair and he breathes in through his nose as he gently kisses her soft lips. He strokes her shoulder and pulls back, brushing his lips over hers before retaking them, trapping her bottom lip just barely with his kiss. A small noise escapes the back of her throat. Not wanting to move too fast, he draws away again, though he longs to carry her to the bed and spend hours giving her pleasure she has never known before. He can almost picture her body beneath him, his hands lightly touching every inch of her; her tousled curls, the curve of her neck, the scars on her back, the intoxicating swells of her breasts, hips and buttocks, even her little feet. Every last bit of her is an enthralling delight. He wants all of her, to show her that he can love her and she has no need to fear that he will reject her or her baby.

Connor's eyes dart over Catherine's face and his breathing is much faster since he kissed her again. His hand moves from her shoulder and slides over her back in a random pattern of zig-zags and circles. The fingers of his left hand still reside in her hair, his thumb stroking the skin on her cheek from time to time. It is too much to endure; Catherine's body needs movement but she is unable to separate from him and the way he is making her feel. Her heart wants to burst from her chest with its incessant pounding and the frightening upheaval in her mind and body adding to its frantic rhythm. Moving her left hand up to his shoulder to grasp its muscled bulk, it is still not enough. Her fingers dig into his skin and Connor lowers his face to the left side of her neck, his lips touching off new and powerful bursts of heat that cause her to gasp in response. She can no longer remain still so she brings her right arm onto his neck and shifts her body closer, crossing her left knee over his legs. Connor moves his right hand across her back and bends his fingers over her hip, helping her move until she is straddling him. A groan rumbles in his chest and fades into an exhalation against her neck. His left hand slides from her hair and moves across her shoulders as his other conforms to the small of her back, both of them drawing her tightly to his body. Catherine clutches him, every muscle tight and unrelenting, quivering with the effort of containing the mass of swirling emotions that fill her to overflowing. She feels as if she will break into countless pieces if she stops holding on and a burning pain rises in her limbs the longer she maintains her strenuous embrace. Part of her believes that if she can simply cling tightly enough to something so right, everything that is wrong all around her and within her will just disappear. A moan of effort and sadness is ripped from her and she digs her fingers into Connor's skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Connor holds her tighter still, his face pressed into her neck but no longer kissing it. The pain reaches an exquisite peak of searing agony and with a sob, Catherine slumps against Connor, panting and depleted. He continues to hold her, his arms crushing her body to his. Finally, the burning ebbs from her extremities, taking with it the last clinging tendrils of doubt about her future with Connor. There can be no leaving now, no death to escape this life.

Considering the abrupt turn in their interaction, Connor finds himself grateful for his need to urinate keeping his arousal at bay. It would be embarrassing for him to be sporting an erection while Catherine tries her best to deal with her fluctuating emotional state. Her need for consideration and affection is staggering and he is disappointed that it so cruelly turned her awakening desire and growing trust into overwhelming anguish. His heart breaks for her as she continues to heave deep, shaking breaths in his arms, her face hot against his neck. A plan forms in his head and as he strokes Catherine's back her breathing slows to a more normal rate and her hands relax against his shoulders. For several more minutes, she stays draped over him, silent, depleted and shrunken in his arms. At last she lets go of his shoulders and slides down his knees to sit on her heels.  Her body sways once and Connor quickly supports her with his hands.

"Can you stand?" he asks softly.  Catherine nods and they get up together, Connor's eyes never leaving her. He takes her by the hand and leads her toward the door. After pulling on his shirt and boots, he faces Catherine.

"Get your things on. I will be back." He leans down and kisses her forehead, running his hand over her cheek and touching his thumb to her lips before turning and going outside.

Catherine feels numb.  The tide of the morning's events had tumbled her over violently and spit her back out, completely changed. She is disoriented and confused, unable to decide if her life has taken a turn for the better or not. She is grateful that Connor is not angry or disgusted about her pregnancy. Far from being repelled by her condition, he had promised to be the child's father and then kissed her. If not for her twisted reaction to his affection, he undoubtedly would have continued in that vein.  Despite her sorrow and fear, he provided the only comfort he could give - himself - and Catherine is ineffably grateful for the relief it gave her.  All that remains is her condition itself. It is still a future she does not want; the situation is a fearful conundrum that her mind continues to repel despite her promise not to interfere with it by ending her life. She dresses in a slow trance, the world seeming to move rapidly around her while her mind and body struggle to keep up. Each tooth button on her coat seems to take an age to push through the corresponding slits in the bear hide.  Connor's creaking footsteps on the porch partly break her from her daze. He opens the door and steps inside, reaching for his jacket. He puts it on and slings his belt around his waist, depositing his tomahawk in the loop on his right hip. The quiver goes on his back next, followed by his bow once he strings it against his leg. By the time he is done, Catherine has managed to pull on her boots.  She watches Connor silently and feels as if she is viewing the world through shattered glass.

Connor offers his hand to Catherine and she takes it, following him to the door as he opens it. Outside, Connor watches as she breathes deeply of the chilly air. With a start, Catherine notices that the chestnut horse is standing by the porch with his saddle blanket and a bridle on. He faces his former enclosure. _When did Connor get the bridle from the storage room?_ Catherine's thoughts are in a whirl.

"Are we going on a trip?" Catherine feels stupid asking the question but her mind is still fuzzy.  Connor squeezes her hand lightly.

"Just a short one. I want to show you something." He walks Catherine over to the horse and lifts her up so she can get on. The feel of the horse beneath her is familiar and solid. She focuses on the shifting muscles of her legs as she uses them to balance and on the reins in her hands as they sing to her of every movement the horse makes. Connor jumps onto the horse and settles in behind her.

"We are going up there." He points to the top of the cliff far above the cabin and to their left. When he brings his arms around her waist he gives the horse a gentle, spurring kick. Catherine steers the chestnut around the bridges and through the woods, retracing the path she had followed after rescuing the horse days before. Riding is soothing and the confusing buzz in Catherine's head diminishes, allowing her senses to sharpen. Filling her lungs with the cold, damp air, she takes note of all the sensations that had become blotted out by the overwhelming gloom that had descended on her so quickly; her hair moving against her skin in the wind, the warmth of the sun on her hands when they pass through the brightly lit patches among the trees, the smell of the moist earth and piney sap, the scree of hawks high in the air. She sits up straighter and takes it in, relishing it as if it were all new. Connor tightens his arms around her and kisses the top of her head.  It is a comforting sensation.   _Had I really almost thrown this all away only a short time ago?_ She considers how dangerously close she had come to making the worst and last mistake of her life.

They turn when the sloping cliff meets the level they are on and start up the incline, passing the jagged bushes where the horse had been trapped. Trees close in to the cliff edge and they meander between them. The incline increases and Catherine lets the chestnut slow and pick his way carefully up it. As the ground starts to level out, the trees give way, affording them a wide view of the surrounding area. The river that crashes down the waterfall runs from between even steeper hills ahead of them and off in the distance. The rolling, snow covered landscape is dotted with black and grey swaths of trees and goes on as far as Catherine can see. She gives the chestnut his head and lets him ramble where he pleases, bringing her hands to Connor's and letting him cover them in his grasp.

"It's beautiful up here," Catherine sighs into the breeze.  Connor hugs her close and then raises his right hand to point towards the distant north-west.

"Do you see those two hills with the steep valley between them?" Catherine nods, picking out the hills far in the distance near the horizon of their view.  "On the other side the river widens out and becomes deeper. My people rebuilt our village on the sandy shores of it. I want to take you there. As soon as Sonehso:wa comes back, we will go."  A stab of concern blots out the beauty of their surroundings.  

"But I"m not... pure.  Would they even like me?" He touches his face to her head and nods against it.

"That does not matter, WildCat. Have no fear of my people.  They will like you. You need to be around other women. You have been too long without it." Catherine drops her head back against Connor's shoulder. The idea is appealing yet frightening. She will be a stranger among them. The chestnut shifts his hooves and Connor tightens his arms around Catherine's stomach, steadying her. She does not need it but she is grateful for his reassuring gesture.  Taking a deep breath, Catherine lets herself trust Connor's words.  She laces the fingers of both her hands into his.

"I think I'd like that.  I'll go with you."


	11. Anika

Anika

The rented house the Zenger's occupy is a small place that shares a wall with the building beside it. The ceilings are low and Sonehso:wa feels the need to duck his head, though Jacob is almost as tall as he and has no problem standing upright. Sonehso:wa forces himself to stand at his full height but still worries that he will knock his forehead on a lintel or door frame. A serious looking woman wearing a deep burgundy dress with many layers of ruffled fabric on the sleeves and neckline comes from another room and stops suddenly at the sight of a visitor in her house. Her dark brown hair is streaked heavily with grey and styled closely to her head in a mass of curls. She flashes a look at her husband with her dark eyes and he introduces her.

"Sonehso:wa, this is my wife, Frau Wilhemina Zenger. _Meine liebste_ , this is a representative of Connor's."

"Welcome to our home." She smiles at Sonehso:wa kindly.  "It's not the tallest home in New York, as you can see, but it's comfortable and you are welcome here. Hmm.  I'm beginning to think there must be a height requirement to be an Assassin." as she finishes speaking, Jacob clears his throat loudly and Wilhemina narrows her eyes at her husband.

"I am not here to kill anyone…" Sonehso:wa quickly interjects, raising his hands away from his body. Jacob sighs and Wilhemina covers her mouth with her hand.  At that moment, the front door bangs open and the stable boy runs in.

"Sorry I'm late, Mutti. Vati brought an Indian man and his horse… oh."  He looks between Jacob and Sonehso:wa and Jacob acknowledges the boy with a wave of his hand.

"This young man is our son, Simon, whom you met earlier." He tousles the boy's curls and Simon ducks his head with an irritated noise and a grimace in the way of young men when they start growing out of parental shows of affection. He then approaches Sonehso:wa respectfully.

"Pleased to meet you, sir. You have a good horse. I made sure he had plenty of hay and fresh water and I rubbed him down from nose to hoof til he shone." Simon's enthusiastic recounting makes Sonehso:wa smile.

"Thank you, Simon. I am sure he will be content under your care."

"Yes, sir!"  

"Go wash up for dinner."  Jacob gestures towards the kitchen and the boy leaves the room at a run.  Jacob turns to Sonehso:wa.

"Well, what's done is done. I was unsure if you were actually one of us or merely an associate of Connor's. He did not use the usual terminology in his letter when he referenced you so I didn't want to make assumptions. From your reaction, it is clear that you are not. I hope you will excuse me if I do not go into any great detail. It's not my place to do so. But tell me, Sonehso:wa, what do you know of us?"

"Raton… Connor told me that you were the man to find here in New York. If I could not find you, I was to locate Jamie Colley." Jacob nods his head as Sonehso:wa speaks, his hand on his chin.  "He said you and Jamie are two of his contacts in this place and that you would help me locate Anika. Together we would decide what is to be done for her. He gave me his belt and said it is the symbol of his connection to you. He called it a 'Brotherhood.'" Sonehso:wa takes the belt off and holds it up as he speaks for Wilhemina's benefit.  "He also said that others who are opposed to your group would recognize the symbol so I should keep it well hidden to avoid becoming involved in any unnecessary conflicts. He did not say more."

When Sonehso:wa is finished, Jacob is silent for a long time. Wilhemina takes his arm and speaks quietly to him in a language Sonehso:wa cannot understand. Jacob shakes his head and she seems to disagree with him until Jacob makes a slashing gesture with his flattened hand. She subsides, irritated, and leaves the room with a loud rustle of her skirts.

"My wife seems to think it is my duty to inform you of more details regarding our Brotherhood. I've decided that if it becomes pertinent to what we are doing, I will tell you then. Again, you have my apologies for our secrecy, but it is a matter you should take up with Connor."

"I understand."

"You would do well to follow his advice on keeping that belt hidden." Sonehso:wa obeys.  He wraps it around his waist and tucks it away.  Jacob gestures toward the dining room.  "Come. Let us eat and then we will talk about things."

A meal with the Zenger's is very different from the one Sonehso:wa experienced at the Young's in Albany. Wilhemina is polite but reserved, occasionally glancing across the table to her husband, pleading with her eyes. When Jacob remains unmoved, her expression changes to burning irritation again. Jacob finally gives her a meaningful look indicating that having a silent argument across the table in front of a guest is rude. During all this, Sonehso:wa is engaged in an animated conversation with Simon. It starts out innocently enough on the subject of identifying good quality horses and then turns into a discussion on the types of weapons Sonehso:wa's people use. By the time Jacob and Wilhemina have reached the end of their visual argument, Simon is voicing his next question, nearly trembling with excitement.

"Have you ever scalped anyone? I heard that Indians scalp the settlers out west. Connor said he's never done it but he isn't all Indian." Sonehso:wa laughs but cuts short when Wilhemina stands up abruptly, her chair scraping the floor. Her face is thunderous.

"Simon! That is not an appropriate topic of conversation for the dinner table. It's not appropriate for _any time_ in this house." her wrath is truly great for such a sinewy woman.  Simon bows his head and stares at his empty plate.

"Sorry, Mutti." he mutters.

"And when did you ask Connor about such a… a... _thing_?" Wilhemnia gestures in the air, so angry she can barely speak of it.

"Last time he was here."

"We will talk about this later, Simon. You too." She directs her attention to her husband for the last part before collecting the plates from the table and leaving the room with a clatter. Jacob nods gravely at his son.

"Go help your Mutti, Simon. If you do, she might go easier on you."

"Yes, Vati." Simon drags his feet as he leaves the table. Sonehso:wa tries to catch his eye but is not successful. He rather likes the child and thinks his zeal is entertaining. Jacob sighs and runs a hand over his bald head before shaking his head at Sonehso:wa.

"Scalping... That boy will be the death of me. I apologize for his indiscretion." Sonehso:wa tries to stay neutral but is unable to contain his smirk.

"I am not offended,"  he reassures Jacob, who's serious expression cracks into a wry grin as well.

The men share a quiet laugh over the matter and spend a moment in companionable silence until Jacob sighs and changes the subject back to the matter of Anika.

"I think the best thing would be to go to where Anika was spotted yesterday. Well, who we think Anika is. We can be fairly certain, as the man watching her is one of Sergio's hired men - ill mannered, undisciplined rabble, all of them. One of our brothers thwarted an attack on the young woman yesterday.  She was accosted in a narrow alley as she walked back to her place of employment. The filthy sod had her up against the wall with his hands all over her and she was struggling with a will. Our man asked if there was a problem and Anika broke free and ran away. No blows were exchanged but we have to use someone else now to keep an eye on her."  Sonehso:wa looks up at Jacob and feels as if a stone has dropped in his stomach.

"That sounds like something a man employed by Sergio would do. They seem to enjoy abusing women from what I saw of Catherine.  She was hurt very badly by her captors."  He is angered by what he knows of Catherine's situation and he is more determined than ever to help save her friend from the same fate that surely awaits her.  Jacob shakes his head slowly in sadness for Sonehso:wa's confirmation of the type of men Martinez employs.  Wilhemina returns to the dining room bearing two glass tumblers, each a third full of golden brown liquid. She places one down in front of each man and though her act is of kindly hospitality, her face is still stormy with irritation at her husband.

"This room is darker than a cloudless night in winter with you two glowering so," she says, taking in the expressions on the two men's faces.  As she starts to leave, Jacob takes her hand in his gently.  He speaks soothingly yet with clear assertiveness.

"Stay a moment. Our plans tomorrow include you." Wilhemina drops into the chair Simon had previously occupied across from Sonehso:wa.  Her expression changes immediately to that of interest as Jacob continues.  "Connor sent Sonehso:wa to find a certain woman named Anika, on behalf of a lady. We need you to talk to her tomorrow morning to confirm her identity. It would be the least suspicious if a woman approaches her."

Wilhemina leans forward, nodding, her eyebrows knitted with concern.  While Jacob informs his wife of the plan, Sonehso:wa picks up his glass and observes its contents. It resembles the rum he had had but smells nothing like it. A smoky aroma emanates from the glass and he takes a small sip. It certainly burns like rum. After the initial acrid taste fades, he is left with a pleasant warmth on his tongue and the smokiness he had smelled lingers in flavor form. It reminds him of a slightly sweet campfire. He looks up as Jacob directs his next words to him.

"Then I think it's decided. We confirm her identity and then you need to get her out of the city. Wilhemina, you'll come with us tomorrow to the public well and if it is the right woman, ask her to meet you at your clothing shop after hours. We'll speak with her there in depth." He turns once more to Sonehso:wa, picking up his glass and taking a hearty sip of his drink.  "Are you comfortable taking this woman with you?"

"I will do what I must to ensure her safety."

"Hopefully she'll be at the well again, otherwise we'll have to approach her at the house she is working at or wait another day." With the matter concluded, the three of them sit quietly for a moment.  Wilhemina rises to her feet and kisses her husband's bald head before leaving, all apparently forgiven. The men quietly sip their drinks. With every swallow, Sonehso:wa appreciates the flavor of the mysterious alcohol more and more.

"What is this?" he asks, tilting his glass and then replacing it flat against the surface of the table.  He watches the amber liquid leave subtle lines on the sides as it runs back down into the bottom. Jacob squints at him for a moment before answering, as if he should know.

"It's whiskey. The Scot down the street has family outside of the city who make it from corn. He gives us some in return for the clothes my wife makes them. Connor and I always have some when he's here." Sonehso:wa remembers Isaac Young saying something about Ratonhnhake:ton liking whiskey. He can see why.

Early the next morning, Sonehso:wa, Jacob and Wilhemina prepare to speak with Anika. Wilhemina agrees that she should be the only person in sight when Anika is approached. They walk to the public well and the two men take up a position next to a nearby market that affords them a wide view of the area while Wilhemina crosses the street and sits on a bench. She keeps her scarf pulled up against the cold and her eyes only partly on a newspaper in her hands. Jacob is just visible beyond the edge of the paper so when he nods and moves his hand in the direction of the well, she looks over to see who is there.

A young woman wearing a dark blue wool dress typically worn by women in servitude is approaching the well with a bucket in her hand. A thick, grey shawl is draped over her shoulders, and crossed in front, the ends tucked under her arms, wrapped around her body and tied again in front so she can keep her hands free, even in a stiff wind. The woman's back is to Wilhemina so she cannot see her face, but her long blonde hair is hanging down the back of her grey shawl and she has a pale blue kerchief tied around her head. Wilhemina rises from her seat, folding the newspaper under her arm. As she draws near the well, the young woman sets her bucket down and starts lowering the pail attached to the rope pully. When she hears footsteps, she turns quickly to see who is approaching her. Wilhemina almost stops in her tracks when she sees the girl's face. _Anika_.  She has seen this girl before in her shop when she and her mistress would come to check her stock. She is the maid of the murdered heiress to Parry Textiles, though no one would have thought her a maid when she was with her mistress.  They both were known to dress fashionably, even in the middle of the day.  Walking, talking advertisements for the offerings of Parry Textiles, they were as lovely and different as two rays of bright sunshine on a cloudy day.  Now, dressed in the dark, utilitarian wool and scuffed boots of a servant, Anika would pass unnoticed through a crowd. _Such wasted beauty!_ Wilhemina muses. The Martinez takeover of the business had caused an uproar when they had increased the cost of purchasing textiles from them so soon after the demise of Mr. William Parry and then again after the terrible end to his daughter. With a start, Wilhemina realizes the implications of why she is standing here, looking at this woman who has fallen so low.  Catherine Parry, or Martinez technically, must be alive! 

Wilhemina calms herself and approaches Anika.  She decides to speak in German, as a man leaning against the wall of a building not far away appears to be loitering needlessly.

"Anika, dear, I haven't seen you since the tragedy that befell your mistress." Anika's face relaxes when she recognizes her. She responds in German.

"Frau Zenger! I can't believe you remember me!"  She looks down at herself and folds her hands, hiding them in the turns of her skirts.

"Of course I remember you. I don't get to speak German with very many people here. Are you well, child?"  Wilhemina watches a maelstrom of emotions cross the young woman's face.

"As well as I can be under the circumstances. Once Cat was…gone, I was no longer needed in the Martinez household. Now I work for a different family as a laundress."  Despite Anika's attempts to hide her reddened and chapped hands from sight, Wilhemina reaches for one and holds it gently. They used to be as pale and soft as a fine lady's.

"My dear. You should have come to me. I could have managed to hire you on as a seamstress. Not for much money, I'm afraid, but you could have lived with us as family instead of as a worker. It's such a tragedy what happened…" Anika shakes her head and her face falls.

"It was so sudden. I still can't believe it happened. Cat was like a sister to me and now she's... she's gone." Anika's voice trembles so Wilhemina steps close and takes the girl in her arms. She whispers in Anika's ear.

"Dear, listen to me. There are people following you and you're not safe. Come to my shop tonight after your duties are done and I'll introduce you to my husband and a friend who can help you. Please come, it is very important. Do not tell _anyone_ of the arrangement. Do you understand? Don't look around when I let go. You're being watched even now." She feels Anika's body stiffen and the woman nods against her shoulder. When she steps back, Wilhemina presses a hand to Anika's cheek and looks into her eyes.

"You must come." She debates telling her that Catherine is alive, but refrains for safety's sake. Anika nods again and Wilhemina smiles at her before turning to leave the girl to her work.

Anika is stunned by the intensity of Mrs. Zenger's words. She has to use all of her willpower to refrain from looking around for whoever is following her.  Her heart pounds in her chest.  _Who follows me?_   Mrs. Zenger walks rapidly away from the public well and disappears around a corner. Two men stand by a general store, one a bald older man and the other an Indian with long black hair and a braid with feathers in it. A woman dressed in a heavy, brown calico with a stained apron steps from the butcher shop carrying a package in her hand and a few servants scurry along the street, some joining her at the well. She fills her bucket and turns to walk away, spotting another man leaning against a house, smoking. Thankfully, the beastly man who had pawed her the day before is nowhere to be found.   _Who is it?_  She keeps her head down and walks back to the house as calmly yet quickly as possible while thoughts spin in her head.

Jacob and Sonehso:wa watch discreetly as Wilhemina storms down the street. She turns a fiery glance on her husband as she passes. Jacob sees the question on Sonehso:wa's face and shrugs his shoulders.

"I'll find out what I've done wrong when we speak later. Come. Let us take a different way to the shop so we don't arouse suspicion. The young woman is leaving the well now anyway. My wife embraced the girl familiarly so we'll know more when we speak to her."

"She seems to fit the description Catherine gave well enough from what I can see." Sonehso:wa watches as Anika disappears onto another street and the men leave their position by the store. They walk along a wide street before turning onto a crossing main thoroughfare. Wilhemina's shop faces this road but Jacob leads them past and then cuts through an alley to approach the business from the back. Inside, Wilhemina is pacing. She wrenches the door from her husband's grasp and huffs as he and Sonehso:wa enter.  Brandishing the newspaper, she uses it to emphasize her every word.

"Jacob! Why on earth did you not tell me the lady is Catherine Parry? Why did you not say she's alive? I know that girl! I bought most of my textiles from her father the moment we started this shop. She and Anika used to come here together to check on my stock. I've been looking for a new supplier since the Martinez's took over the business and raised the prices!"  She throws the newspaper at her husband in frustration.  Jacob catches it against his chest.

"Woman, calm yourself. I felt it better to not have more names known than necessary. So it seems we've found the right girl. Did you tell her what you figured out?"

"Of course not! I'm not a fool!  But I did my best to encourage her to come here tonight. I think she will."  At the end, Wilhemnia's voice changes to one of concern.  Jacob sets the newspaper down on the counter and nods agreeably at her.

"Good. It's better that she knows you because she will trust you more than me or Sonehso:wa, here."  Jabob motions toward Sonehso:wa.  Wilhemina steps closer to her husband and touches his hand.

"Jacob, why is Anika being followed, and why doesn't Catherine just come home?"

"My dear, the Martinez's are Templar sympathizers. We have long suspected their involvement in the slave trade. It only took one legislator to vote no and foil John Jay's second attempt to free the slaves of New York in January.  He was so vocal about his motion in the months prior to the vote that even supporters were getting sick of his caterwauling."

"What does that have to do with Anika and Catherine?

"That legislator who vetoed the liberation was paid off and Martinez and his son needed an immediate source of money to do it. Catherine's fortune was an easy acquisition and there was plenty of time to work out how to get it. With her father dead, a happy coincidence in timing for the Martinez's to be sure, Catherine was the only piece in the way so they paid for her to be taken and murdered. Now, they must suspect that their plans failed and anticipate Catherine will attempt to contact Anika. She has no one else. _That's_ why Catherine can't come home and why Anika is being watched. We need to get her out of the city so she cannot become their tool. I hate having to involve you further in any of this, but it's necessary. I won't stand by and let them use another innocent woman for their corrupt gains. They must not be allowed to succeed. If we can take down enough of their plans and support, we may force them to slip up and reveal who they take their orders from within the hierarchy."

"Oh, Jacob. What terrible news! Of course I must help as much as I can." She takes her husband's hands intimately in hers and Sonehso:wa looks to the side, shifting his feet. Wilhemina reaches over and touches his sleeve.  "Sonehso:wa, you must take her safely away! She's a good girl and she doesn't deserve this. She'll be so happy to learn that Catherine is alive. I only hope she'll come to us tonight." Sonehso:wa nods and he and Jacob depart so Wilhemina can open her shop. Jacob turns to Sonehso:wa as they walk back to the house.

"We will have to prepare for your trip. I'll see about finding another horse. It will take a couple days to get what supplies you'll need for a journey. I hope that Anika will see reason and be ready to leave as soon as we need her to. In the mean time, if you'd like to see the city, feel free, but don't spend too much time in one place. Many don't take well to Indians here.  Meet back at my wife's shop at sunset." Sonehso:wa nods and the men part ways.

The temperature had dropped the night before and it remains low all day. In the early afternoon, the cloudy sky releases a steady snowfall. To stay warm, Sonehso:wa keeps moving, traversing a large portion of the city and waterfront. The city is enormous and Sonehso:wa meanders through streets and alleys, watching the people move around him and taking in the sights, smells and sounds as they vary throughout the day. Some of the buildings here are colossal but what really captures his interest are the massive ships scattered out in the bay and tied up to the docks. He is used to traveling in canoes, the largest able to carry a few men at once. These ships are immense and tower over his head like the houses that fill the city. He wonders how they even move because of their size.

Sonehso:wa thinks on what Jacob had called Catherine's husband and father in law. He wonders what "Templar sympathizers" are and if they are related to the faction Ratonhnhake:ton had mentioned that directly opposed his contacts. It would explain why Jacob is so determined to hinder the Martinez's efforts. He tips the belt buckle up and looks at it again. Once he returns to the cabin, he means to get answers from his friend.

Eventually, he circles back from the southern side of the city and approaches the Zenger's neighborhood from the west. He takes his time traveling the short distance to Wilhemina's shop just as the sun is starting to cast long shadows behind everything in sight. He knows he is early so he takes a seat by the piers and watches the light fading over the harbor.  The hulking forms of the ships are black against the snow-muted colors. As evening starts to darken in, he rises to his feet and walks down the street toward the shop.

Ahead of him, Sonehso:wa catches sight of Anika as she turns onto the main street from a smaller side road and head toward the shop. She holds her grey shawl tightly around her body and looks nervously from side to side. When she has passed beyond the road she came from, Sonehso:wa catches a glimpse of a man's head looking at her before it ducks back into the shadows.  Sonehso:wa stealthily creeps closer using the treelined side of the street as cover, and hears the voices of at least two men before he can see into the darkened area.

"… she returns and get it out of her our own way." Their few words are all Sonehso:wa needs to hear to know that their original plan is unworkable now. He moves back the way he came and traverses around the area through back streets and alleyways as quickly as possible without arousing suspicion. At the stable he calls out for Simon. The boy appears from the back of the stable with a pail and a pitchfork in his hands. Sonehso:wa approaches his horse as he speaks to him.

"I need my things from the house. Get them for me quickly. My bag, bedroll and blanket are where I left them inside." The boy drops his tools and hurries into the house as Sonehso:wa puts the bridle on his horse and throws the riding blanket over his back, hurriedly tightening the strap around the horse's belly. Simon returns with the rolled up blanket and bedroll under his arms at a run, the bag bouncing on his side.

"Thank you, Simon. I must go," He secures his things and leads his horse to the door of the stable. He pauses and turns to face the back of the stable where a lantern hangs on a hook. Suspecting he will not see the boy again, he calls out to him.  Simon's curly haired head appears from just inside the stall he was mucking out, one side of it lit brightly by the lantern.

"I have never scalped anyone... that is only done in war.  My father has scalped many men in his lifetime." The remembrance of the boy's awestruck face follows Sonehso:wa out into the night but the levity of the moment fades quickly as he jogs through the snowy smaller streets to the back of Wilhemina's shop, leading the grey horse. The night is fully dark yet there are still enough people about finishing their last errands for the evening that he does not have to use stealth to get close to the building unnoticed. He loops his horse's reins over a fence post and taps lightly on the back door. Jacob opens it and ushers him inside impatiently.

"Where have you been? I said meet at sunset, not midnight!"  He closes the door with a loud click of the latch. Anika and Wilhemina are standing next to each other, the older woman's arm around Anika's shoulders. Anika is holding her stomach with both hands and she looks up at Sonehso:wa with concern on her extraordinarily pretty face. She stands taller and leaves Wilhemina's side to approach Sonehso:wa. Looking up, she stares boldly into his eyes. Catherine's description of Anika is exact, including the scattered freckles across her cheeks and nose. The glow of the lamps in the room make her light hair look almost white though he knows from earlier that it is cornsilk yellow. Her light eyes bore into his.

"I saw you this morning with Mr. Zenger. Is it true what they told me? Cat's alive?" Her accent sounds similar to the Zenger's and though it is not nearly as strong, it is still completely different from Catherine's. When she speaks, Soneshso:wa notices that one of her front teeth is slightly crooked, just as Catherine had said. In such a pretty face, the imperfection only serves as proof that she is indeed real and not a deity from the spirit realm. He wants to touch her just to be sure but keeps his hands firmly to himself.

"She is alive. She speaks highly of you, Anika. And she misses you." Anika clutches her stomach tighter and breathes in deeply. Her brow furrows and her eyes shine as she looks back at Wilhemina. Tearing his eyes from the distressed woman in front of him, Sonehso:wa turns to Jacob.

"Anika is in danger.  She was followed here by at least two men and they plan to find out why... by force."  He turns back to Anika.  Her face is full of anguish and fear. "I am sorry."  Sonehso:wa touches his hand to his chest and then extends it out toward her as an apologetic gesture.

Wilhemina approaches Anika and she turns into the older woman's embrace. Jacob shakes his head and scratches his mustache.

"That is a problem. I have arrangements to get another horse but it will take time. Anika, we had plans working to get you out of the city but it looks like we will have to move faster than I anticipated."  At his words, Anika turns from Wilhemina's embrace.  She clutches her skirts tightly.

"Who are these people following me?" Her voice trembles and she swallows hard, her eyes flitting from Jacob to Soneshso:wa and back again. Jacob looks at Anika with sympathy on his face.

"They are Sergio Martinez's men.  He's using you as bait to find Catherine. You're no longer safe here so we need you to trust us and do as we say." Anika shakes her head in frightened confusion. Jacob gestures to Sonehso:wa and speaks firmly.

"Sonehso:wa will take you to Connor, my contact.  Catherine is with him and you'll both be safe. But you must leave tonight. Now."  

"But… I have nothing with me…" Jacob interrupts her, shaking his head.

"That cannot be helped, Anika. This situation is too far out of control to allow any more time to pass." 

"I have my horse here and ready."  Sonehso:wa interjects.  Jacob nods and takes Anika's elbow to guide her toward the door. She allows him to lead her, moving as if in a dream. Sonehso:wa opens the door and walks outside to get on his horse. The snow has stopped falling outside but at the threshold Anika turns and clings to Wilhemina's hands, shivering.  Wilhemina makes a pained tsking sound in her throat and switches to German.

"Go with him, my dear girl. It's the only way for you to be safe. You need to trust us, please, and be strong. He'll take you to Catherine." Anika lets out a small cry, throws her arms around Wilhemina and hugs her tightly. Her heart is racing as the older woman returns her embrace. She feels like she has regained a mother only to lose her moments later. Wilhemina gently disengages her arms and turns her toward the door Jacob is holding open. Sonehso:wa is on his horse already and Anika turns to look back at the Zenger's as she stumbles across the space between the shop and the horse. A high pitched whistle comes from the blackness between two houses, followed by muffled footsteps running down the snowy alley on the other side of the house.  Anika falters and stops in the snow half way between the certain safety of the house and a man she just met, unsure of what to do.

Jacob closes the door behind him, securing his wife inside the shop before drawing a knife from his belt. He gives Anika an encouraging push toward Sonehso:wa to get her moving before positioning himself to block the man running from the alley. Sonehso:wa steers his horse towards Anika.

"Take my hand!" He leans down, lowering his hand to her and she grasps his wrist. He starts to haul her up behind him but a figure lunges from between the buildings and grabs Anika around her waist. She loses her grip on Sonehso:wa's arm as the weight of the man pulls her to the ground. He immediately stands her back up, dragging her to her feet holding a fistful of her hair through her handkerchief. Anika tries to hold onto the man's hand to ease the pain but she can't help but cry out from his rough grip.

"You little sneaking bitch." The man speaks close to her face, pulling her head back hard and watching as Sonehso:wa circles his horse clockwise around the two of them. Sonehso:wa has his wood and stone war club in his right hand and the man presses a knife to Anika's throat, turning them to keep Anika facing Sonehso:wa's weapon. The cold steel bites into her skin and a trickle of blood runs down her stretched neck, leaving an icy trail in its wake. The sounds of Jacob fighting at the entrance to the alley filter to the back yard behind the shop.

"Try anything and I'll slit her throat." The man spits into the snow. Sonehso:wa makes his horse rear in an attempt to throw the man off. The man takes the knife from Anika's throat to grab her by both shoulders and propel her out of Sonehso:wa's reach but Sonehso:wa uses the opening to swing his club in a wide arc, smashing it into the side of the man's head. The crushing impact is loud behind Anika and the man's blood spatters in a wide arc over the trampled new snow. He falls sideways behind her and she stumbles to her hands and knees in the bloody snow, losing her balance as her feet are tangled between the man's crumpled form and his arms. Sonehso:wa turns the horse back, putting his club back on his belt.  

Anika hears her name being called from in a haze as she stares at her hands buried in the blood-speckled snow.  She lifts them and watches as the powdery clumps melt in her palms and the black dots of blood thin out and run between her fingers.  

"ANIKA!"  Sonehso:wa shouts.  Her head snaps up, suddenly clear, and she looks at him high above her with his hand outstretched to her.  He leans down and Anika jumps to her feet and grabs his arm with both hands. This time Sonehso:wa lifts her up and she scrambles behind him on the horse, her skirts bunching up indecently to just below her knees.

"Hold on to me and do not let go!" Sonehso:wa yells. He takes her wrist and pulls it until she crashes into his back before grasping the reins with both hands. Anika wraps her other arm tightly around his waist and grips her wrists with her hands against his stomach, pressing her right cheek against Sonehso:wa's quiver on his back. He kicks the horse into a gallop and as they enter the street behind the shop, Jacob leaves the fallen body of the man he was fighting to chase a third man as he starts to dismount nearby. The man sees him coming and stays on his horse, deciding instead to chase Anika and Sonehso:wa by following them along a parallel road. Between houses, Anika catches flashes of him as he gains on them. Her view is partly obscured by her position and Sonehso:wa's hair being tossed in her face by the wind.  Sonehso:wa's long black braid bounces against Anika's shoulder and back as he swings the horse around people in the way on the icy street. Despite holding on as tightly as she can and gripping the horse with her knees, Anika's body jounces with the horse's wild galloping on the slippery road.

"There's a man on horseback chasing us!" Anika shouts into Sonehso:wa's shoulders. His body twists as he turns to look behind them and she matches his movement, staying pressed to him.  More of his hair blows into Anika's face, covering her mouth and eyes and obscuring her view completely.

"He's on the next street, not behind us. I can see him through the houses." Anika takes one hand off his waist to point but Sonehso:wa catches her wrist and presses it back to his stomach. When Sonehso:wa twists to look again, Anika turns her head the opposite direction and the moonlight reveals a more open area ahead. They are moving away from the coast and the buildings are not so close together.  The man chasing them also sees the advantage of an open area ahead, as well as the disadvantage of a horse laden with two people instead of one. As soon as they emerge into the open area, the man following them whips his horse violently.  He gains on them rapidly.  Sonehso:wa glances back and makes a sound low in his chest when he sees the smaller gap between them.  It rumbles against Anika's cheek and she tightens her arms around his waist, afraid their pursuer will catch up and tear her from her seat.   Sonehso:wa urges his horse onward with shouted words and then sits up abruptly.  He pulls his bow off his back with his left hand, dragging it out from between their two bodies.  As soon as it is clear, he snatches an arrow.  Twisting hard in the saddle, with Anika stuck to his back, he draws on the bowstring, the shaft of the arrow sliding along his index finger almost until the triangular arrowhead touches his knuckles.  Anika watches the veins stand out on the back of Sonehso:wa's hand as he steadies his grip. The man following has gained even more on them. With Sonehso:wa turned so far, Anika can no longer properly grip the horse's heaving sides and she feels herself tipping sideways. She cries out, clutching at Sonehso:wa's shirt with her fingers so Sonehso:wa bends his leg back, hooking her stockinged calf with his foot and pressing it against the side of the horse, stopping her slide without looking away from his target. 

The man weaves to the side and Sonehso:wa follows him as the horse beneath them senses Anika's fear and the frenzy of racing another horse.  He surges ahead, froth spraying from his mouth and billows of sparkling snow kicking into the air with every stride.  

Anika feels Sonehso:wa's muscles change as he releases his arrow.  She watches the black-feathered arrow punch completely through their pursuer's throat, knocking him sideways off his horse. The man never releases the reins and the horse rears, screaming and sending bits of snow flying as it paws the air and starts to topple, unbalanced by its momentum. It falls on top of its rider, crushing him and breaking one of its legs as it goes down and then rolls in an explosion of snow. Sonehso:wa quickly faces forward, reaching behind and using his right hand against Anika's hip to push her back up into place before grabbing the reins where they bounce wildly behind the horse's stretched neck. He releases her pinned leg and slings his bow on his back with one arm, quickly taking the reins with both hands once more. Together they lean forward and Sonehso:wa yells strange words to their mount. The screaming of the suffering horse behind them recedes in the distance as they reenter the street on the other side of the clearing.

Once outside the city limits, Sonehso:wa slows the horse and turns off the road where a stream crosses, keeping the horse's path in the water until they are well among the trees.

"Are you harmed, Anika?" She jumps, startled, when he addresses her.

"No, I don't think so. Just shaken up is all." Sonehso:wa lets the horse walk, speaking quiet words in a strange language to it as he reaches down and briefly strokes its sweaty neck. the beast's heaving sides slow to normal breathing within a few minutes, with only a spluttering whicker or two to show for his incredibly taxing and dangerous gallop through the city.  Anika trembles against his back, the realization of what they had just survived taking over as her adrenaline wears off. She is still holding onto Sonehso:wa tightly and he rests one hand on her arm lightly.

"You do not have to hold on like that anymore unless you think you might fall off." A hint of a smile is in his voice and Anika releases her grip on his waist and sits back. Suddenly she feels faint and her stomach churns.

"Let me down," Sonehso:wa stops the horse and reaches back to aid Anika. She takes his arm and slides off the horse, backing a step away before dropping to her hands and knees in the thin layer of snow. She is in the middle of the woods, alone with a strange Indian man, her very life in the hands of someone she has never met before. She has put her trust in the Zenger's word that this man will not harm her but she cannot help but doubt her safety now. They are far enough out of the city that few people, if anyone, would hear her scream. She tries to remember her history with Mrs. Zenger and her genuine concern for her. She would never send her off with someone if she thought he would harm her. If Mrs. Zenger trusts this man, she believes she should too. Her dizziness passes as she takes deep, measured breaths and tries to calm her racing heart. Sonehso:wa dismounts, the beads on his clothing rattling, but he does not approach her. His legs are just within her view, the tops of his boots dusted with snow. The ties around his hide leg wraps at his ankles and just above and below his knees are decorated with tiny beads in a pattern of small, repeating diamonds. He shifts his feet and then squats down to look at her, his left arm raised where he holds the reins and his right arm resting on his knee. His hair hangs down in front of him, his crouched position making it dangle past his knees. He gestures with his right hand as he speaks.

"That did not go as we had planned. It was not supposed to be… like this." Sonehso:wa watches the woman kneeling in the snow. She is breathing in through her nose and exhaling out through her mouth, struggling to stay calm. Her kerchief is gone, her pale hair spreading down her back and spilling over her shoulders, the blue-white light of the moon making it shine as bright as a star. She looks up at him and the place where the man cut her with his knife has left a line of dark blood dried to her neck and smudged over the front of her throat.

"How was it supposed to be, then?" She sits back slowly onto her heels and squares her shoulders, watching him carefully.

"We were to travel on two horses, possibly even taking a ship to Albany to travel faster. From there we would have gone on horse the rest of the way."

"The rest of the way where?"

"To the cabin where Catherine is. She is safe there with Ratonhnhake:ton and you will be too."

"I thought Mr. Zenger said we were to go to Connor. Who's the other person you just spoke of?"

"Ratonhnhake:ton is his real Kanien'keha:ka name. Connor is his white name." Anika looks at Sonehso:wa doubtfully.

"How do I know you aren't lying to me? Cat has been dead… missing for over a month and a half now."

"I am not lying to you."

"I'm supposed to just take your word? Describe Cat."

"She has long, dark, curly hair and light skin. Blue eyes." He holds his hand up to just below the top of his shoulder, fingers extended and his palm facing the ground. "This tall when I stand. She is a very pretty woman and she loves riding horses."

"The Zenger's could have told you… mmmost of that," Anika says, feeling unsure of everything.  Sonehso:wa remains silent for a long time before answering. His long hair shifts against his chest in the wind.

"Catherine told me how you ripped your skirt when you were sixteen."

"What? Ripped my skirt? You mean that time at the tavern…" Sonehso:wa nods.

"You and Catherine were hiding that you had been drinking alcohol from her father and you tore your dress sneaking back into the house."

"Oh, my God, you aren't lying! No one knows about that but us." Anika covers her face with her closed fists, momentarily feeling a rush of emotions overtaking her at the truth of Cat being alive. _This is not the time for weeping!_ She admonishes herself.  She heaves a sigh and then drops her hands to her sides, scrutinizing Sonehso:wa as he patiently waits for her. Anika starts to stand and Sonehso:wa watches her from his crouched position, his face angling up as she gets to her feet. After only a moment, he stands as well and she is once again looking up at him. He seems to be about the same age as she, his skin unlined and his complexion smooth. Though he had killed the man who had grabbed her and the one who followed them, his face is not that of a violent person. His expression is calm and neutral and his features are darkly attractive. Anika had never spent so much time regarding the appearance of an Indian man before. He calmly watches her as she inspects him from head to toe, taking in his beaded tunic, woven wrap, many pieces of jewelry, hair, boots and weapons. Finally, she pulls her shawl tightly around her shoulders as if in conclusion.  Sonehso:wa moves his hands out from his sides.

"Are you satisfied with me?" He offers a quirky smile and Anika is taken aback at his unexpected attempt at humor.

"Maybe… Tell me... What happened to Cat?" she crosses her arms and resets her feet.  Sonehso:wa's face becomes solemn.

"I do not wish to be the one to tell you her story."

"Tell me!  Please, So… Sonay… what is your name again?"

"My name is Sonehso:wa."  He says it slowly for her before giving as brief a description as he can manage. "Catherine was taken by men who were hired by Sergio Martinez and his son. They wanted her money and they no longer needed Catherine once they had it. The men took her to a cabin far from here to kill her." Anika covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head as he tells her.

"Oh, my darling Cat!"

"They did not succeed.  Ratonhnhake:ton, Connor, killed the men and took Catherine back with him to his camp. There he cared for her and treated her wounds. Her body is healing but her heart is still in pain. She worries for your safety most of all."

"Her wounds? How badly was she injured?" Anika's voice shakes. Sonehso:wa's face is grave.

"The men harmed her."

"How badly? Please, I must know the truth of it before I see her!" Anika can see that Sonehso:wa is reluctant to go into detail but she meets his eyes with trepidation and waits.  He speaks softly and Anika has to strain to hear him.

"They... used her... for their perverted satisfaction. She was badly beaten and whipped... and cut with a knife." He finishes the last part in a rush. Anika cries out and staggers back, covering the lower half of her face with her hands.  All she wants to do is scream but Sonehso:wa steps toward her, dropping the reins, and takes her by her upper arms so she will not trip on the uncertain footing of the forest floor. Anika bunches her hands into fists and pushes them against his chest, turning her head aside to avoid his gaze and trying not to weep for her friend.  Tears escape her anyway and she feels as is she will vomit.  

"Oh God.... Oh god... They raped her?  ...and whipped her _... like an animal_!!!"  Anika screams in a whisper into the trees, not able to see through her tear blurred eyes.

"She is healing now,"  Sonehso:wa says soothingly.  Anika gasps at the sound of his voice and briefly tries to pull her arms free.  Sonehso:wa gently continues to hold onto her.  "She is safe, Anika. And you are safe.  Ratonhnhake:ton has been protecting Catherine for three weeks now. When I left two weeks ago, she was able to walk unassisted and without much pain. The only marks I could see on her were a healing cut to her lip and some fading bruises." His voice is earnest and his sincerity impels her to face him as he continues.  "She is not disfigured or lame in any way. By the time we get to her, she will bear no sign of her ordeal. She is probably already free of any now." Anika nods and loosens her tightly clenched fists slightly, her eyes falling to the knife that is attached to a leather strap crossing Sonehso:wa's chest. His proximity and the way he is holding her is frightening despite his voice. If she moves her fingers just a little to the right she could take the handle of it easily but she would get a handful of his hair as well.

As if he could sense what he was thinking, he shakes his head at her.  

"There is no need to fear me but we have a long way to go before it will be safe to stop this night. Are you ready to continue?" Anika nods and Sonehso:wa releases her arms and steps away, leaving her to return to the horse. He checks the leather belt and adjusts the blanket on the horse.  He is saddened that she had been so resistant of his supportive hold on her.  After a few seconds, Sonehso:was hears Anika's soft, squeaking footsteps in the snow as she follows.  Her voice has a newfound firmness to it that had not been present only moments before. 

"I suppose there will be militia looking for us after what happened back there." Sonehso:wa turns his head toward her and nods.  He leaps up onto the horse and extends his arm. She hesitates for only a moment before she takes it and jumps as he pulls her up, straddling the horse easier than the last time. She settles her skirts down as far as they will go over her legs, positions her shawl up over her head and loops the ends over her shoulders for warmth. Sonehso:wa waits until she places her arms loosely around his waist before urging the horse to walk again.

They ride for what seems like an eternity into the night, keeping off the main road and continuing to cut along narrow, winding trails in the woods and through fallow fields. Once the surge of energy wears off from the stress of their escape, exhaustion threatens to overwhelm Anika. She quietly talks to Sonehso:wa to try to stay awake.

"Who is this man that Cat is with?"

"He is from the Kanien'keha:ka tribe and a friend of mine. You have nothing to fear from him and neither does Cat. He is a good man."

"Why does he have two names?"

"He spent a lot of time before and during the war with white people. He took the name Connor to blend in better."

"How does an Indian blend with white people?"

"He is half white. His mother was Kanien'keha:ka and his father was from the place called England. Connor said he was told once that he could pass for Spanish or Italian descent, though all I see is Kanien'keha:ka."

Anika sighs and rests her forehead against Sonehso:wa's back as exhaustion steadily takes her over.  The steady, unchanging gait of the horse is relaxing and she fights the pull of sleep. Anika is startled out of a doze with the cessation of movement. Sonehso:wa has stopped the horse beside a dense thicket of evergreen trees. Her hands are warm and as soon as she moves them she realizes it is because Sonehso:wa is supporting them against his stomach with his left arm, simultaneously protecting them from the cold and keeping her on the horse behind him.  When she pulls her arms out he lets go, his fingers sliding over the back of her right hand lightly. He dismounts and scouts around the entire area, leaving Anika sitting alone on the horse.

"This place is a good location to camp for the rest of the night. The trees will shelter us from the wind." He leads the horse around the back side of the trees and helps Anika down. While Sonehso:wa collects wood for a fire, she takes his bag, rolled up blanket and sleeping mat off the horse, realizing the full implications of not having any supplies for this trip. The night suddenly feels colder and she hopes the fire will be enough to keep her warm. Sonehso:wa returns to the camp site with branches and leaves again.  When he returns, he has a large collection of dead grasses in his hands.  He places them carefully on top of his bag to stay dry before beginning to break up the branches.  Each crack of snapping wood under his boots sounds as loud as musket fire in the silent chill of the night.  Sonehso:wa arranges the wood and twigs in a cleared section of the forest floor within the curving wall of trees, rolls sections of grass into little tumble weeds, and produces a flint from his bag.  He kneels on the ground, strikes sparks onto one of the balls of grass and uses his hands to shield a tiny flare of light from the wind.  He blows carefully on it and when it begins to flame, he picks it up and places it under some of the smaller twigs.  Feeding it more balls of grass, he coaxes a fire into existence.  Once the fire begins to consume the branches, creating the most welcoming crackling warmth Anika had ever experienced, Sonehso:wa stands up.

"I will find something for us to eat. I will not be far.  Keep warm and feed the fire." He disappears into the darkness and Anika dusts some snow off of a nearby rock, wraps herself in Sonehso:wa's striped blanket and sits down. She adds two large chunks of wood to the fire before he returns, preceded by the sound of his feet crunching through the snow. When he reaches the circle of light thrown out by the fire, he is carrying some small game with him. He rounds the fire to her side, sits down near her and begins skewering the animals on some branches to roast over the coals. The creatures appear to be a woodland rodent. Anika cringes inside but knows she is lucky that they have anything to eat at all. She is pleasantly surprised when the meat turns out to be juicy and flavorful, smoky from the fire and warming to her body.

"I never thought I would eat a squirrel in my life but it's better than I expected. Thank you."

"I am happy that you like it. We will probably eat a lot of them as we travel unless I can shoot something bigger. Maybe you will hate them by the time we get to the cabin." He looks slyly at her from the sides of his eyes with a smile on his face.  He is making an effort so Anika tries to make one as well. She smiles in return.  When they finish eating Sonehso:wa gets up to gather more wood for the fire. By the time he returns to her side Anika is yawning into her hands. Sonehso:wa unrolls his bedroll and sits on it, looking over at Anika as he takes off his quiver and leans it next to his club and bow within easy reach against a tree. He crosses his feet and rests his elbows on his bent knees, grasping one wrist with the other hand and looking at Anika expectantly.

"We will be warmer if we lie together to sleep." Anika's eyes widen and she presses her lips in consternation. Sonehso:wa shrugs his shoulders and continues.

"If not, you have my blanket and I have the mat, so this night will be cold for both of us." He smiles wryly and lies back on the mat, twitching his wrap over his hands where they rest on his stomach, closing his eyes and crossing his ankles. Anika narrows her eyes at him.

"I see you think this is funny."

"No, not at all."  He speaks into the night sky, keeping his eyes closed. "I will not take advantage of you but if you do not believe me then neither of us will sleep well this night. Or you can trust me and we can have a chance of not being so tired we fall off the horse tomorrow. It is your choice." His tone is lighthearted yet truthful and Anika sees how foolish it would be to attempt a long journey in the winter without ever getting much sleep. She gets the feeling from the way he is lying there with such a deliberately blank expression that Sonehso:wa is restraining a stronger sense of humor for her sake. His sarcasm emboldens her and she stands up abruptly, looking down at him. He opens his eyes and she crosses her arms, pulling the blanket so tightly that it strains around her elbows.

"Well then, I guess we should stay warm, but I'm warning you, I _will_ hurt you if you try anything." She glares in his direction darkly at the end of her declaration and Sonehso:wa's eyebrows raise in surprise at her unexpectedly tart retort. He holds both hands up, palms out to her.

"I believe you. If you are anything like Catherine, you will not hesitate to defend yourself." He moves over to the right so there is slightly more room on the mat beside him and pats the decidedly small surface, looking up at her with a disarmingly crooked half-smile. Anika steps over and kneels next to him. He moves his arm up and away from his body and she pauses, considering whether she should face him or turn her back to him. She lies down on her right side facing him, positions the blanket over them both and rests her head cautiously on his shoulder. Sonehso:wa brings his arm against her back and places his hand lightly on her waist. Anika instantly feels the warmth of his arm but it is as if he has taken possession of her. In an attempt to endure the situation at least for a little longer, she situates her left arm on his chest, resting her hand near her face. Sonehso:wa exerts gentle pressure on her waist with his hand, tipping her body so she is lying against his torso. He pulls the blanket up higher over them and then moves his right arm under it to rest his hand on Anika's forearm lying across his chest.

"Comfortable?" he asks.  Anika moves her hand over slightly and grips the handle of this knife below his shoulder.  She works hard at controlling her nervous breathing, made worse by the way his hand stays encircling her arm in a possessive gesture.

"Now I am," she says through gritted teeth. Sonehso:wa laughs and settles his head back with a smile on his face, giving her elbow a light squeeze with his hand.

"You are truly a sister to Catherine!" Anika feels strange in such an intimate position with a man. The only people she had ever slept with in the same bed was her younger sister Sabine,  Cat, and one of the other laundresses at her recent place of employment who tossed and kicked ceaselessly. She forces her body to relax one area at a time. Sonehso:wa's steady heart beat and breathing fill her right ear as her body becomes much warmer. He had been right. His face is turned away from her and she finds herself staring at the long, raised muscle in his neck that spans from the side of his jaw to where his collar bones meet on his chest. The light of the moon in the clearing sky reflects off his white necklace and beaded earring where it rests against the pulse in his neck. The woven fabric of his wrap is soft against her cheek and smells of fire smoke and the unfamiliar scent of his skin. Despite the awkward feelings that continue to whirl in her head and her uncertain grip on the knife, she falls asleep, only vaguely stirring to move her right arm from under her body during the night.

Anika feels herself shifting from deep sleep into semi-consciousness as her body moves. A hand on her wrist is placing her arm in front of her and then lifting her head gently. She cracks her eyes a fraction and watches as Sonehso:wa extracts his left arm from under her cheek, supporting her head carefully with his right hand. The morning light is just beginning to brighten and his frosty breath hazes in the air. Anika studies his face and the lines of his neck as he moves. His hair is long and shiny, hanging down to pool by his elbow on the mat. She can't believe she spent the night in the arms of this man. Before the events of the previous evening the very idea of it would have been scandalous, even more so because he is an Indian. Now that it has happened it doesn't seem so awful. He did nothing inappropriate to her. She opens her eyes fully and his dark eyes meet hers as he finishes lowering her head down.

"I was hoping you could fall back to sleep," he says with concern.  He had seen right through her pretense. His choice to not reveal that he knew she was faking sleep seems like a kind concession for her sake. Anika smiles as he withdraws his hand from her head.  He helps her sit up. Her body is sore from the hours of riding the night before and she groans in discomfort.  The light is thin and grey in the early morning; they can't have gotten more than 3 hours of sleep. The place on her neck where she was cut by the blade is tender and itchy where dried blood sticks on her skin and she touches it gingerly with her fingers. Sonehso:wa's eyes shift to her neck. When she looks at her hand there is a tiny smear of blood on her fingertips where a crust of blood cracked open from her movement.  Sonehso:wa tilts his head and leans closer to look at her cut, tipping her chin back slightly with his hand. He draws back again after assessing her injury, sitting on his heels.

"It is a shallow wound, but you should clean it." He gets up and squats by the fire, using a stick to stir the embers but watches as Anika leans over, takes up a small amount of snow in her hand and holds it to her neck. Sonehso:wa places a few small branches on the faded embers. They start to crackle and Anika looks up from her crouched position. The yellow rays of the rising sun catch her eyes and they light up with a verdant green that is striking surrounded by the bleakness of the winter landscape. Some of her golden hair has slipped over her shoulders. He has never seen hair that color before and it fascinates him; he wishes he could touch it now in the light. Catherine had vastly understated her friend's beauty. She is of average height and slender, her full breasts covered modestly by a dark blue dress that buttons up the front with many small, black buttons. But her face… it is astoundingly beautiful. Anika looks back down at the ground in front of her and drops the icy bit of partially melted snow from her fingers. She rubs at her neck, cleaning off the dried blood and carefully working up to the actual cut. Her lips are parted in concentration, their rosy color only slightly deeper than the pink that touches her cheeks. Dipping her fingers periodically into the snow to renew her washing water, she manages to clean the cut sufficiently. Her fingers are red with cold by the time she finishes and she reaches her hand out to the warm embers and burning twigs before getting up. She wanders away from the fire and out of sight behind some trees deeper in the forest.

While she is gone, Sonehso:wa rolls up the blanket and mat and fastens them to the horse's back, tying his bag on top. When Anika returns he has put his weapons back on and is kicking the fire apart and pushing snow over the embers. Anika's hair is pulled back from her face into a loose braid that starts at the top of her head and hangs down her back. It is tied at the bottom with a small piece of dark blue string, no doubt taken from her dress. The sections she has pulled into the braid from the sides reveal slightly darker hair underneath, accentuating the lighter color even more.

"Are you ready to go?" Sonehso:wa asks her.

"Yes." She watches as he leaps up, easily swinging his long legs astride the horse's back. He pulls her up behind him and she rests her hands low on his waist after tugging her skirts to cover herself as much as possible.

They ride through the morning and past the sun's weak zenith, eating a small meal as they ride of cold left over squirrel. After a time Sonehso:wa dismounts, lifting his leg over the neck of the horse and jumping to the ground while it is still walking. He offers the reins to Anika so she scoots forward to take them and Sonehso:wa walks beside her. It is strange to not have a side saddle with places to rest her feet and legs and Anika feels somewhat unsteady this way. She used to make fun of Catherine and her divided riding skirts she used to make for herself, telling her she rode like a man. Now she regrets every mocking word she ever said to her best friend.

"We should let the horse have a break. He is not used to carrying two people and we have a long way to go."

"How long did it take you to get to New York?"

"I travelled for thirteen days. We cannot push as hard on the way back but we can make up time by staying off the winding roads." Anika's eyebrows raise. _Two weeks travelling alone with this man?_

"Thirteen days! How far beyond Albany are we going?"

"At least eight days north and west of there." Anika is quiet as she thinks about the path that lies before them.

"Why was Cat taken so far away?"

"I do not know."

"It must have been hell… the travelling, the place they held her… what they did to her…" Anika shakes her head and stops talking before her voice breaks.

"Try not to think of it."  Sonehso:wa urges.  They continue in silence for some time with nothing to break the sounds of the horse's hooves on the crispy, snowy ground until Anika speaks up again.

"How did your friend find her?"

"He was hunting near where they held her captive."

"So he just... came upon them by chance?"  Anika looks down at Sonehso:wa and he breathes a silent sigh.

"She was… screaming." He sighs again and looks up at Anika's face. She turns and stares into the distance, her forehead creased with distress as she chews on her trembling bottom lip. Sonehso:wa cannot bear to see her beauty marred by such sadness.

"You should try to stop thinking about what happened to her. It cannot be changed. The only thing that matters is that she is safe now." Anika looks away and nods, her lips drawn together tightly. Sonehso:wa raises his arm and takes her forearm in his hand. She gasps, jerking her arm away and looking down at him. He looks with concern at her and keeps his hand up toward her, slowly nodding his head once in a silent bid to take her hand. She cautiously lowers her arm, allowing him to move his hand to her hers and hold it. Sonehso:wa cradles her hand in his, looking at her small, curled fingers tucked against his palm, the back of his hand resting against Anika's leg.

"You and Catherine have known each other for a long time?" he asks.  Anika turns her head to look at Sonehso:wa when he changes the subject. He has his face angled up to her and the sun reveals a diffuse, red-gold tinge and nearly black flecks scattered in his irises. They are rather startling since at first they had appeared to be just a dark brown color.

"Yes. Since I was about thirteen. Her father hired me as her lady's maid, though we mostly just acted like sisters. I believe Mr. Parry viewed me as a second daughter. He spoiled me as much as he spoiled Cat. After my family died, Cat and her father became my family in truth to me."

"I am sorry your family died… I see now why you and Catherine are so close."

"It was a long time ago. I'll miss them for as long as I live but Cat has helped ease the pain." Sonehso:wa nods in empathy. They are silent for a while until Sonehso:wa changes the topic once again.

"You always call her Cat. Ratonhnhake:ton and I called her WildCat sometimes." Anika raises her eyebrow at Sonehso:wa and he explains.

"She has a strong spirit. She tried to kill me the first time I met her. Like a threatened wildcat."

"What?"Anika turns her head slightly and squints at him. Her hand twitches in his and he releases it. "That doesn't sound like Cat at all! She can be headstrong at times, but she would _never_ try to kill someone." Sonehso:wa laughs and shakes his head.

"I know that now, but she thought I was there to hurt her. She threw Ratonhnhake:ton's tomahawk at me. It was close, but I escaped in time to save my head." He points at his forehead, looking up at her with a grin as he finishes and Anika smiles momentarily at his gesture.

"What did you do that made her think you were such a threat?"

"I showed up at the cabin when she was alone shortly after Ratonhnhake:ton took her in. She said her husband would be back soon but when I told her I knew Ratonhnhake:ton was not married she got very upset. She then demanded that I leave.  I did not do it fast enough. So she threw the tomahawk at me. If I had not been near the door, I might not be here today. When I met Ratonhnhake:ton coming up the path as I ran for my life, I asked him why he had a wildcat in his camp. I think she likes being called that."

"Good God!  I suppose no one can blame her for it."Anika laughs in shocked amusement and Sonehso:wa joins in as he remembers. When they stop laughing, Anika looks intently at Sonehso:wa.  "I can't tell you how happy I am that she's alive. When she first disappeared, it was awful, just awful. I cried for days and blamed myself for not being with her. Sergio dismissed me from service right away. And then Mrs. Zenger showed up, and everything I thought I knew was turned upside down. I can't believe that just one day ago my life was going completely differently. Even though this," she makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses both of them and the surrounding forest, "is not where I would ever have expected to be today, knowing that Cat is alive and that I'll see her again makes me able to bear anything."

"Even me?" Sonehso:wa says with exaggerated wonderment, gesturing at himself with both hands pointed at his chest and his eyebrows raised, an enormous smile across his face. Anika laughs easily.

"Even you, yes." They pass on in silence. Sonehso:wa unslings his bow at one point and signals for Anika to continue on before slipping silently between the trees. He is gone from her side for some time before returning to her carrying a gutted hare which he ties to the side of the horse. He cleans his hands in the snow and jumps up behind Anika. His body is pressed up against her for a moment until he settles himself back and Anika is unsure of how she feels about his nearness. She had been feeling nervous about being alone in the wilderness while he had been gone, but the necessity of so much touching between them is intimidating.

"You were gone for a long time. I was starting to wonder how you would find me again."  Anika says, more nervously than she prefers.

"I was never very far. I found you easily; you do not have to worry about me losing you when I hunt."

"I was looking forward to squirrels for dinner again, you know." Anika turns slightly back so she can see Sonehso:wa's amused reaction. The wind blows a section of Anika's hair that had slipped from her braid. It tickles her face and she shakes her head slightly and blows it off of her lips.

"I will be sure to hunt some again for you soon. Maybe tomorrow." He reaches up and captures the errant strands of soft hair between his fingers and loops them behind Anika's ear. His hand is warm as it brushes lightly against her cheek, ear and neck and she is more acutely aware of his presence behind her. His touch was both casual and extremely intimate and her skin flushes at his contact. She lowers her face, hoping the way they are sitting prevents him from seeing her rising color.

Sonehso:wa does notice her blush. The color flushes even the back of her neck and he wants to wrap his arms around her and feel the heat of it against his face. He finds himself unable to stop looking forward to the approaching night when she will once again be against his body and he will not have to create a reason to touch her. Pretty girls have always driven him to flirt and do his best to make them laugh. It usually leads to them wanting to spend… time… with him. At the very least he often gets a few kisses for his efforts. The thought of many more nights ahead with Anika helps temper his desire to touch her further. For now he satisfies himself with the way her hair felt as he tucked it behind her ear, the incredibly fine hairs slipping between his fingers like a downy feather.

The sun sets, taking the temperature down with it. Anika pulls her shawl up one side at a time to keep her hands on the reins and Sonehso:wa observes her trying to adjust it around herself better. He leans forward and takes the reins from her hands, partially embracing her at the same time. She loops her shawl up over her head for warmth.

"Thank you. I was getting cold." She reaches for the reins again and Sonehso:wa takes one of her hands in his and removes her fingers from the reins, bringing her arm to her stomach.

"Stay warm, I have them." He gently draws her closer by tightening his hand against her arm so Anika leans her body back against his chest and folds her arms under her shawl, grateful for the added warmth of Sonehso:wa's solid presence. She does not see the way he looks down at her face, admiring her beauty as she settles herself comfortably against him.

Anika unbraids her hair that night beside the fire and combs her fingers through the length of it. Sonehso:wa watches her from the sides of his eyes as he adjusts the hare near the coals, trying not to be obvious in his interest. Her hair is a thick wall of gold that she rakes her fingers though, impatiently tugging at knots from the wind blowing it around. She wiggles her fingers over the fire, discarding fine strands that disappear in an instant. When she is satisfied with the state of her hair, she leaves it pulled over one shoulder, the cascade pouring out from under her shawl after she covers her head with it.

After eating, it is so cold that Sonehso:wa lies down on the mat and tugs on the corner of the blanket Anika has wrapped around her. She carefully settles herself against him the same way as the previous night, only this time she does not take the handle of his knife in her hand. Instead, she places her hand near his neck and touches his necklace with the tip of one finger. Sonehso:wa moves his hand to her upper arm outside the blanket and his thumb brushes over her hair. He cannot help taking a section of it in his hand and sliding his fingers down the length of it, gently pulling the bottom out from where it is trapped between their bodies. He reaches to the top of the section near Anika's face and slides his fingers down again, slower this time, watching the firelight reflect off the color as it curves over his fingers. Anika watches Sonehso:wa's eyes as he plays with her hair.

"It's not going to change, no matter how much you touch it."

"Why should I wish this to change?"

"It's so straight and boring. I always wanted Cat's curls."

"I like your hair better than hers, Jitkwa:'e."

"What is Jitkwa:'e?" She stumbles over the word.

"It means 'yellow' in Ogwehoweh, the language of my people, the Onondowaga. You should like your hair. It is beautiful."

"Now you're just saying things..." Anika smiles, shamelessly encouraging him to keep complimenting her.

"No. I have never seen hair this color on anyone. It is as yellow as ripe summer corn." He loops it around his fingers and turns it to catch the light from the fire. Anika moves her hand from Sonehso:wa's necklace and picks up his braid from where it lies next to his head. She pulls it over his shoulder and holds it up in front of their view. The feather on the end dangles over the back of her hand.

"I've never seen a man with such long hair, or who wears a braid." She lays the braid down on his chest and tucks her hand back under the edge of the blanket.

"It is common among my people."

"So is blonde hair among mine. My brother Hans and sister Sabine had hair like me, as well as my mother." Anika heaves a deep sigh and shifts her head against his shoulder, tucking her hand closer to her neck under her chin. Sonehso:wa lowers his hand, still holding her hair, onto his stomach. She does not speak again and he hears her breathing settle into the same deep rhythm of the night before as her body relaxes against him. He lifts her hair in the moonlight and loops it over his fingers. It is soft and shiny and he watches as it slides out of his grasp when he releases it, falling onto his chest in a soft cascade. He thinks Anika with her so-called common yellow hair is one of the most beautiful sights he has ever beheld. Sonehso:wa moves his arm under the blanket and rests his hand on Anika's elbow. He falls asleep thinking about her.


	12. Integrity

Integrity

The weeks following Catherine's reveal of her pregnancy are difficult. Mornings are always begun with her running to the porch, though often she does not actually vomit when the cold air helps calm her stomach. Connor always joins her, keeping her hair back for her and holding her in the aftermath while she shivers and frequently cries in the misty semi-darkness of morning.  He strokes her face and kisses her head softly as she clings to him in return, the way a shipwrecked sailor hangs onto any shard of floating detritus he can find.  Despite Connor's heartfelt reassurances that all will be well, he cannot fully part the veil of darkness that has covered Catherine. Connor is afraid she will sink dangerously close to that shadowy precipice of despair again and he won't be there to stop her when she does so he stays by her side, only  leaving to hunt when there is truly a need.  He leaves the bow and quiver with her when he does have to go, preferring to set snares and trap if it gives Catherine something to occupy her mind and keep her from slipping away to a bleak, dangerous place while he is gone.

 On good days, Catherine smiles and laughs, becoming animated and sharing in both ordinary and entertaining banter with Connor. Sometimes he manages to steal a small kiss from her pretty lips after she unexpectedly sidles up to him for a hug or when she stands close and looks at him in a certain way.  Her laughter is a balm to Connor, and he cherishes the sound of it, for those moments are fleeting and rare. Other days, she is quiet and withdrawn, her thoughts turned inward and her posture prickly enough to keep him away even when he wishes to hold her close. Regardless of how Catherine is feeling, she never brings up her condition.  It is as if she would prefer to pretend it isn't there no matter how she feels and what Connor knows.  It forms a barrier between them that Connor desperately wants to throw himself against and break to pieces, for he wants nothing more than to see her embrace her future and make the best of it, no matter how it came to be.  

The daytime hours afford Catherine the brightest spots of happiness. Connor starts teaching her how to throw the tomahawk with accuracy and encourages her to continue her practice with the bow. She creates a hide bracer for her arm so the bow string no longer harms her when she grows tired from shooting, allowing her to continue for longer. Just as Connor had predicted, her accuracy improves faster than she thought possible once she learns the behavior and trajectory of the arrows as they are released. When she compensates for the arc her arrows hit her targets more often than not and she has taken to finding smaller and more distant targets to challenge herself, much to Connor's quiet entertainment.  Throwing practice is a different matter.  She is slow to improve and Connor has difficulty keeping his own temper in check when she drops his tomahawk on the ground or shoves it into his hands and storms away, once even calling it a useless piece of rubbish. That time, she had galloped away on the chestnut horse and Connor had paced and railed for over an hour, shouting and knocking over stacks of wood, after which which he irately slammed the pieces back into place, ignoring the hurt he caused to himself in the process.  She finally returned and tearfully apologized. He had been so relieved he had taken her in his arms, held her tenderly with his bruised and bloodied hands, and kissed away her regret, his anger forgotten.  He didn't even care about her insult to his precious weapon because she had come back to him unharmed.

Catherine weeps for her future almost every night. She does her best to muffle her sorrow but Connor knows she is aware of him listening to her from his place by the fire. His heart breaks for her but she never comes to him or asks for his comfort and strength.  He has tried to show that he wants to give of himself but every night she crawls into the bed and endures her long nights of sadness alone. There is nothing he can do to change the inevitable birth of this baby but he also cannot seem to help Catherine deal with her pain, either.

The worst days are when she crawls back into bed in the morning and will not rise. She refuses to eat or drink and would rather be silent, weep or sleep.  She had only had one such episode since the day before she tried to kill herself and Connor had spent time outside, chopping wood to keep his nervous anxiety under control by expending his energy on something productive. Several hours later, with a broken blister on his palm and more wood than they could burn in a month added to the stacks spread around the cabin, he had finally tired of the chore and managed to settle his mind.

Waiting for Sonehso:wa to return with news about Anika is wearing on them both and Connor reflects on why he did not use the more efficient method of communication he has available to him. It would have involved traveling to his village and since it is not strictly Brotherhood business, he had hesitated to employ it. It is too late to rectify, as Sonehso:wa must be in New York or perhaps he is even on his way back.

It is a bad day for Catherine and she is a quiet bump under the covers of the bed in the shadowy rear of the cabin. Somehow, she seems to have grown thinner over the past two weeks, if that is even possible. She was far too thin when Connor found her but her pregnancy sickness has taken an additional and heavy toll on her body. Added to her melancholy, she seems to be dwindling before his eyes. Connor stops at the door, his original plan to hunt early feeling pointless this day. He lifts his hand and rubs the back of his neck with a grimace before taking off his bow and unstringing it, setting it down and dropping his quiver beside it, careless of the arrows rattling together loudly. Catherine stirs in the bed, rolls onto her right side and Connor watches her curl her legs up under the covers as he strips off his belt, jacket and boots, returning them to their places. He walks over to the empty side of the bed and pauses. With a shrug of his shoulders he makes up his mind and taking off his shirt, crawls under the blankets next to Catherine, rolling to his side and looping his left arm around her tightly curled body. He wiggles closer until the front of him conforms to the shape of her back and he gathers her in to him. He knows he will not be able to sleep but he doesn't care. His mind would have been here anyway if he had gone hunting.

Connor's body is warm as it surrounds her and Catherine, though she is surprised that he has climbed into bed with her, she doesn't mind the intrusion as much as she would have thought. He has been so kind and long suffering with her and her unpredictable mood swings. She wonders why he tries so hard. All she has been lately is a sick, miserable shrew of a woman, the monotony of it broken by crying jags. How unappealing. It is a wonder he doesn't stay out hunting from dawn to dusk just for some peace. Connor says nothing as he lies with her but he finds her hand and threads his fingers between hers. She sighs at his show of affection and once more wonders how he could possibly want to be near her when she's like this. To her extreme dismay, tears start stinging her eyes and her frustration for being so weak adds to them. She tries shaking her hand out of Connor's grasp to move away from him but he tightens his arm around her and tucks his body closer. His persistence makes a quiet sob catch in her throat.

"Sshh, WildCat. I am here with you." He whispers into her ear and his words only hurt worse for his caring. When he plants a kiss on the nape of her neck, her teeth chatter with the force of her grief and she is no longer able to contain her tears. Not since the day she realized she was pregnant had such a torrent of sorrow broken itself from her. Her grief takes on a life of its own, her body shaking uncontrollably as it flays away any protective buffer she had managed to hold onto. Connor holds her as she sobs, wrapping both his arms and then his legs around her tightly and whispering words she cannot understand into her hair. When her strength is finally spent, she lies limp in his embrace, the last vestiges of her pain draining away in the dizzy euphoria of total exhaustion.

Connor is unsettled by the intensity of her chronic sadness and worries that it will overtake her permanently. If she faces at least seven more months of this he wonders how she will even survive. He fervently hopes Sonehso:wa returns soon and debates if it is worth waiting any longer to take Catherine to his village. Sonehso:wa would find the cabin empty and simply continue on to the village. The women there would know better how to help Catherine but he wonders what days of riding and sleeping outdoors would do to her. _Will it make her worse?_ Connor knows little of pregnancy and what it entails; it is women's business. His only direct experiences with it were his brief interactions with Prudence in Davenport and recently, the knowledge of and seeing a woman being pregnant at his village. There, he was even farther removed from what was involved since it was another man's wife and she lived in a different longhouse entirely. The whole process rather frightens him, especially after Connor had seen how much agony Prudence had endured when birthing her son. He will never forget her screams; even when he had gone beyond sight of where she lay, flanked by her husband and Dr. White, the sound of them had followed him. He had returned when the baby's tiny cries replaced Prudence's painful screaming and he had been shocked to witness the amount of gore associated with childbirth, yet Prudence was smiling and happy, her pain already forgotten as she and Warren sat, completely smitten by their newborn infant. Connor's line of thought is interrupted when Catherine moves, turning to lie on her other side and face him. Their noses are only a few inches apart. Connor looks into her tired eyes and reaches for her arm, sliding his fingers down it and she closes her reddened eyes, breathing deeply.  Her eyelids are purpled and inflamed with exhaustion and stress; she looks as if she has been lost in a wilderness for days without sleep.

Now that such a raging river of anguish has passed through her, Catherine feels stripped down, faded and hollow. She surrenders recklessly to Connor's touch on her arm, allowing herself to only feel his fingers at their precise points of contact. Connor barely uses any pressure at all, the creases in her sleeve causing his fingers to bump their way over them. As he curves around her arm and traces his fingers up the back side of it, a pleasant chill causes her to shudder and inhale. His fingers pause in their circuit of her arm and she opens her eyes. He's watching her, his pupils almost fully dilated and black in the semi-darkness of the early morning. Always, his gentle caresses and soft kisses speak of a deeper desire for much more and slowly she has become more receptive to his touch. Her body seems to understand what it wants more than her mind is willing to allow and the two halves of her psyche do battle every time Connor touches or kisses her. This time there is no battle. Her mind has given up, leaving her unprotected and exposed. _Does anything really matter anymore?_ she wonders _.  He wants me...  but he doesn't take me.  Why bother keeping myself from him when no one else will look at me the way he does?_

"I was worried about you." Connor says, keeping his voice low. Catherine knows very well that he constantly frets about her, not understanding what he sees in her. Still, his compassion is sweet and she wants him to stop worrying so much.

"I'm feeling better now." The lie slips from her too easily.

"You are?" He raises his eyebrows in surprise. The eager hope that fills his eyes fuels Catherine's carelessness.

"Aye, Captain." Her address makes Connor smile. He had told her about some of his adventures on the _Aquila_ one day in an attempt to lift her spirits and she had sassily called him Captain to make fun of him. On her better days, she would rebelliously toss the title at him whenever he gave her corrective criticism during her training. _Yes, Captain… Of course you're correct, Captain…_ For her to call him that now lends credence to how she feels. Connor reasons that it must have been a very good thing for her to have broken down like that instead of trying to hold it all inside.

Catherine reaches over and picks up Connor's beaded braid between the second and third fingers of her right hand, moves it off his cheek and tucks it behind his ear, resting her palm against the edge of his jaw afterwards. Connor turns his head and kisses her wrist, keeping his eyes trained on her face. She looks tired and so… haunted… yet he cannot help wanting to continue in this vein. Lying in the bed with her is far more provocative than sitting or standing in an embrace. Even thinking about them lying together is arousing his desires. Trying not to analyze it too much, Connor resumes the movement of his hand on her arm. Catherine closes her eyes and relaxes her arm down to the bed with a soft sigh, her hand trailing off his jaw and lying softly curled against his chest. When he reaches her shoulder he runs his hand onto it and then follows the slope of her body down her right side. As he moves toward her waist, he drags the blanket down with his fingers, reaching the lowest point of her curve and starting up towards her hip. Between the slow uncovering of her shape and Catherine's quiet bursts of breath in reaction to his touch, Connor becomes more than just mildly aroused.  His erection grows quickly, making his desire urgent but he keeps his touch light and controlled. Reaching the apex of her hip and reversing his path back down to the dip of her waist, he trails his fingers even slower, moving up her side, over her shoulder and onto her neck. Her breathing becomes even more erratic as he curves his path down under her jaw and onto the front of her throat.

Unable to keep his mouth from Catherine's warm skin any longer, Connor leans close, brushing his fingers back over her neck and shoulder. Resting his hand on her waist, he kisses her forehead just between her eyebrows. Catherine raises her right hand to the side of his neck and Connor has to restrain his amorous enthusiasm. He lifts his body slightly, leaning on his right arm, and lowers his mouth to her lips. They are soft, as always when he gets to feel them against his, but this time it is different. There is a new kind of softness that is unrelated to the texture of her skin. It is more of a giving-in to his kiss. He opens his mouth, taking just a tiny bit more of her lips with his. Her fingers slide further back under his hair and she pulls on his neck.

Catherine is lost. She wants more of what Connor is giving. Oh, so much more. Her body is on fire everywhere but nowhere else is as molten as between her legs. She shifts her thighs against each other and the feeling is amplified many times over, making her inhale sharply. Connor's lips are warm and his kisses are driving her wild with need. He leaves her mouth and she gasps for air, her eyes opening to the sight of his face barely separated from hers, his eyes roving over each of her features in turn. His left hand tightens on her waist and Catherine almost whimpers but it comes out as just another exhalation. She moves her hand down and squeezes Connor's right shoulder to lower herself onto her back on the bed. His hand slides down to her hip as she does, closing over the top crest of her pelvic bone, so Connor shifts her body closer to him.

Catherine gasps and Connor stops. The hard line of her hip is under his hand and his palm burns to feel it through her bare skin rather than her pants. He detects a slight tremble running through her body and Connor fears his action may have been too aggressive. Catherine's fingers dig hard into his shoulder and she barely blinks as she lays there, staring at his face and breathing shallowly through parted lips. Every second that passes convinces Connor that Catherine is afraid of what he will do to her. Connor moves his hand away from her hip and as he does, his thumb catches the bottom of her shirt and brushes against the smooth skin of her stomach, making her gasp again before he can pull away.

"I am sorry," Connor whispers, but Catherine moves her hand back to his neck.  She pulls on him and he finds himself trapped in her arms, her right hand twining in his hair as he tries not to let his full blown lust take over. She kisses him almost frantically, straining her body upwards to make contact with his. Something tells him this is too much, that she is not really ready for this. Forward behavior is not typical of her at all; it is always he who kisses her. The only thing she has ever actively sought out is his embrace. He pushes against the mattress and tries to draw away but she cries out against his mouth and pulls harder on his hair and shoulder. Connor groans and relents, relaxing his muscles and meeting her lips harder than he intends. Catherine responds by opening her mouth to him and he cannot resist having his first taste of her. A soft moan ripples in her throat when he integrates his tongue into their kissing, flitting it along the underside of her top lip and just inside her mouth for just a few kisses and then delving deeper for more. When he stops to give them both a moment to catch their breath, Catherine lets her head fall back, exposing her neck to him prettily. Kissing his way along her jaw to her throat and flitting his tongue over her slender neck, Connor tastes the sweet-salt of her and feels the next cry that escapes her vibrate against his mouth. As slowly as he can, he draws an arc with his lips and tongue down the side of her neck and over to the front towards the junction of her collarbones. His hardness swells in response to her throaty gasps and he shifts his body until he is on his knees straddling one of her legs. He slides his left hand up her ribcage until his fingers barely graze the bottom swell of her right breast, the skin of it firm, yet yielding delightfully under the gentle pressure of his thumb. He wishes her shirt were not in the way so he can feel the soft warmth of her skin and taste it all.  Catherine grips his hair and arches her body lithely beneath him, completely submerged in the moment.  Connor flexes his knees to shift downward and lay kisses over Catherine's collar bones and chest just above her breasts.  The movement causes his pants to become uncomfortably tight on his erection and it gives him pause.  

 _What am I doing? I have no excuse for this!  I am letting her confuse sex with comfort. Sex is not what she needs right now!_  Connor pulls back from Catherine's neck and takes her right forearm in his left hand. He tugs against her grip on his hair and she opens her eyes and lets him untangle her fingers. She is breathless and the light from the rising sun catches the wetness he left on her neck, making it shine. His eyes are drawn from her neck to her chest as it rises and falls below him. They remain on her breasts, lingering on her hard nipples barely concealed by her shirt. Connor wants to take them in his hands and caress them forever. He tears his eyes away and raises them once more to her face.

"I want to, WildCat..." His voice is constricted and full of apology. The words he doesn't say make it clear he will not progress any farther. Catherine feels robbed. This was the first time she had fully banished her fear and allowed herself to become wrapped in sensation but doubt's sharp fingers once again try to regain their hold on her heart. _Is this not what Connor has wanted for so long and what I have tried to want as well?_ Connor shifts his weight as he watches her and Catherine looks down his body. His knee is between her thighs and when she follows his leg upwards his arousal is obvious. A tight feeling in the deepest part of her stomach makes her hold her breath as the familiar horror she had temporarily vanquished returns to fill her heart. _How had he seen what I could not? Why must it be this way?_ She turns her face away and sighs out her bitter regret, pulling her arm out of Connor's hand and letting it fall back onto the bed next to her head.

"It felt so good." she whispers toward the wall.  Connor flinches at her innocent candor, knowing for a certainty she had never experienced uninhibited pleasure before. There is no doubt in him that she was enjoying what they were doing on a physical level. So was he, but he fears how badly she would be hurt emotionally if she were to regret allowing him to take her so impulsively. It would traumatize them both if she were to panic while he is inside of her. The sensitive nature of their predicament is as dangerous as an open flame in a powder house and it needs to be handled with the utmost caution and finesse.

"It would be wrong for me to take advantage of you."Connor knows his argument sounds weak and sanctimonious. Catherine doesn't look at or respond to him and the silence grows uncomfortable.  "I am sorry, WildCat. I should not have gotten into the bed with you." He starts to move from her side and Catherine grabs his arm, turning her head to face him. Her face is stricken with extreme anxiety.

"Don't leave! Please, don't leave!" she cries out, her voice tinged with real panic.  Connor's carefully neutral expression disintegrates into worry and he lowers himself down to lie on his back next to her.  He cannot allow himself to disappoint her further.  She edges closer and slumps against him, her right arm across his chest and her face on his shoulder. When she squeezes him in a half hug, restricted by their position on the bed, she hooks her right leg over his. Connor closes his eyes and flattens his palm on her lower back. Even her toes, curling against the inside of his calf, seem to cling desperately to him. He reaches up and slips his fingers into her curls, smoothing them back from her face and releasing a quaking sigh from her.

Connor stares at the ceiling for a long time, stroking Catherine's curls absently after she eventually falls into a deep sleep. She is understandably confused about her future and she does not need him losing control of himself and adding to the muddle. Without any doubt, he knows he was right to stop her from killing herself but he cannot help thinking on days like today when she is so distanced from herself, that she is dying inside anyway even as a new life is growing in her belly. It is almost as if it is stealing away her will to thrive, using it to strengthen itself. Connor has tried to avoid talking about the pregnancy with her or allowing dispensation in her training, knowing that the last thing she wants is to be coddled and treated like an invalid. Maybe it is time to stop avoiding the subject. He clenches his teeth, knowing that she will be resistant to the idea. In time, he hopes she will be more willing to accept being a mother despite the child's progenitor. He reminds himself that her pain is still very fresh and strong enough to overpower the logical truth beneath the surface.

Catherine gets out of bed later in the day, hours after Connor extricates himself from her sleeping form. She spends time outside brushing the chestnut horse even though the temperature has grown cold again and snow dusts the ground once more. The repetitive chore is soothing and she applies herself to it with a will, for she is frightened by her behavior with Connor earlier. If he were any other man… Closing her eyes, she rests her forehead against the warm neck of the horse and silently thanks Connor for being his resolutely chivalrous self.

A short time later, the familiar sound of his footsteps crunch over the ground as he approaches. Catherine turns her head and watches as he walks toward her. There is something on his mind; his hunched shoulders always announce his preoccupation. It is as if his arms and hands are too heavy for him and he needs to use the muscles in his neck and shoulders to keep their weight from dragging him down. She can guess what it is that is bothering him but stays silent as he draws near. Fully expecting him to bring up her irresponsible behavior, she is surprised when he stands behind her, uses the backs of his fingers to move her hair over the front of her right shoulder and then brings his arms around her waist. He lowers his face and kisses the left side of her forehead, the pressure of his kiss tilting her head to the side. She feels the need to explain herself.

"I'm sorry I was such a… a hussy this morning." Connor rests his cheek on the top of her head.

"It is I who should apologize. You are not to blame for what happened. I was the one who allowed it to go too far."

"But I started it by lying to you." Catherine squeezes the brush in her hands nervously and Connor lifts his head.

"When?"

"When I said I felt better. I didn't want you to worry...  You always worry about me!  I can see it even though you think I can't." Connor moves his hands to her hips and turns her to face him. She knows he wants her to look at him so she slowly raises her eyes. His forehead is creased and the fine lines extending from the outside corners of his eyes are more pronounced than usual.

"Yes. I will always think of your safety and happiness before my own.  Even when things are well I worry for when they will not be. A lie for my sake will never change that." Catherine exhales in a quiet burst that resembles a laugh but is filled with more sadness and cynicism than mirth. Connor frowns at her reaction and tightens his fingers on her waist.

"Listen to me, WildCat. I care a great deal for you. There is nothing I would not do if it is within my ability to make you happy. Do you know that? Nothing. Seeing you this way… in pain," Catherine tilts her head down but Connor cups the side of her face with his hand, gently holding her so she cannot completely escape his gaze. "I lack the power to change the spirit of the child growing inside you into my own. If I could I would have done it long ago." Catherine heartily wishes he could simply make it disappear but the greater meaning of his words quickly crowd out her scornful thought.  She turns fully toward him as his voice becomes more earnest and he narrows his eyes, looking hard into hers.

"Believe me when I say I do not care who or what this child looks like. That means nothing to me, for I will see only you and the child will be mine in every respect." Catherine scrutinizes Connor's face, flabbergasted by his words and unable to reply. She can't understand how he can be so unconcerned about the parentage of a child that he would be providing for for many years. Her head shakes almost imperceptibly as she tries to see the situation through his eyes. She drops her eyes and stares unseeing at the center of Connor's chest as she continues to reflect on his incomprehensible statement. As if he can read her mind, he tilts her head up so she is looking at him again.

"It does not matter to me." His voice is a low, adamant rumble and when he finishes speaking he turns from her and walks away. His hands are clenched by his sides and his shoulders seem even more hunched than when he approached her. Catherine's anger prickles at his retreat.   _Was he expecting me to change how I feel just like that?_ The thought inflames her ire further, though she knows he genuinely had the best intentions. She is sure he believes wholeheartedly in his words, for he has never deceived her with empty pandering. He is honest to a fault and she remembers the way his angry words of truth had stung when he denounced her husband as a rapist and an accessory to her abduction. The strength of his conviction looms all around her and Catherine leans back against the horse for support. _Damn that man! How can he be so sure and calm about something that will change me forever and expect me to feel the same?_ Catherine throws the brush violently to the ground, making the chestnut snort at her sudden movement.  She climbs onto the horse from a nearby stack of wood and goads him to a gallop.  With a thunder of hooves, she passes by Connor as he walks toward the trail leading down to the gorge. He shouts something after her, maybe only her name, but she ignores him, choosing only to feel the icy wind on her face.

Catherine follows the river for a long time and then decides to cut through the forest and move farther from the sound of the water, searching for silence. She comes across a narrow track and turns the chestnut to follow it. Twiddling the ends of her hair in her fingers, she lets the horse wander along the path, studying the way his dark mane moves and shifts with his gait and the breeze. Her thoughts migrate back to Connor. _What is wrong with him? He sees how upset being pregnant makes me! How can he think that saying he considers the child his will make me view it any differently? He was not the one who was raped. He has a choice in his destiny._ The horse stops and Catherine kisses to him, encouraging him to walk again as she winds a curl up her finger carefully. The chestnut tosses his head, snorting and Catherine looks around.

Nothing seems amiss until she looks down onto the path just ahead of the horse. An enormous carcass lies across the track, tattered flesh hanging down into the cavernous place where the abdomen used to be. Catherine covers her mouth with her hand and guides her horse around the dead animal. As she gets a better look at it, it becomes clear that it was another horse. Her heart almost stops and Catherine sees the man who choked her before her face, his features purpled with rage as he compresses her neck in his hands. Through the buzzing in her ears and her desperate struggle as she kicks her feet and claws at her attacker's wrists, she hears the horse on the ground beside her squealing as it attempts to lift its head up but fails, collapsing in death so hard the impact carries through the earth to her back. Just as her vision starts to dim, the man choking her lets go and he turns to listen to something being shouted at him. Catherine's hands fall from his wrists and she tries to push herself out from under him, coughing. The last thing she remembers is him turning back to her and his fist coming toward her face.

The memory of being struck makes her jump and she reaches forward and gathers two fistfuls of her horse's mane in her hands. She squeezes the stiff hair between her fingers and urges him forward. Her stomach is slithering with anxiety when only a short time later she enters the clearing in the woods. It looks different with no structure standing but she recognizes the place nonetheless. The body of the man she saw outside the cabin as she fled is still there but in an even worse state of ravaged decay than the horse. Both bodies have been partly consumed by wild animals and there is less left of the human corpse. Jagged sections of burned timbers lie in crumbled piles covered in snow but most of the cabin is gone. Catherine doesn't dare dismount, for fear of being dragged back down into her nightmarish recollections. Even the horse seems skittish here. Catherine sits up straighter and surveys the area. Taking a single trip around the circumference of the ruin, Catherine moves on to the boulder where Connor found her and all the memories come flooding back. By the time she has finished her tour of the place she is nauseous and shaky so she kicks her horse to a gallop in an attempt to outrun her past.

Catherine pushes her horse as hard as she dares, wanting more than anything to return to the place and the person she associates with safety. She dodges trees and low branches, travelling through the forest at speeds more risky than she has ever attempted, only slowing when the river is by her side and the ground begins to rise. At the top of the trail Connor comes into sight where he stands by the cabin, his arms crossed, waiting for her. He had heard her coming and he doesn't look happy.

Catherine canters up the trail on the horse, her hair bouncing around her shoulders. Her lips are parted as she rides and her face is contorted as if she wants to scream or weep in fear. She barely slows as she reaches the top, throwing herself from the horse's moving body and falling to the ground almost at his feet. She tries to stand but crashes back onto her hands and knees instead. Taken aback by her crazed leap from the horse, Connor drops down beside her.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" She shakes her head and does not raise her face.

"I saw it, Connor…" she says softly.  Connor takes her by the arms and lifts her to her feet. He is still aggravated that she galloped off, ignoring his calls but obvious shock shows on her face.

"Where did you go?" Connor is unable to temper the gruff irritation that deepens his voice and as he asks the question he knows the answer she will give him. 

"I didn't mean to. I was just trying to think. The dead horse was there and I followed the trail… the cabin is gone but the place is the same." Connor squeezes her arms and Catherine gasps at the pressure, lifting her face to him. He speaks harshly to her.

"Do not _ever_ go there again! It is not safe. What if more of those men had been there? They would have killed you! What were you thinking?" Connor stares into her frightened eyes and in his peripheral vision notices that her hands are balled into fists. Letting go of her, he turns and walks away angrily, stopping at the far corner of the porch and staring off at the waterfall. He leans his hands on the railing and lowers his head, breathing deeply. When he lifts his head he tilts it slightly to face her as he speaks over the sound of the falling water.

"How can I protect you if you run away from me?" Catherine holds her shoulders with her hands crossed over her chest and gapes at Connor's back. He spins around when she remains silent and advances toward her. Catherine steps backward as he draws near, her old and seemingly buried fear of him bursting to the surface like some vengeful thing. She resists cowering away from his towering form by only the barest margin. He reaches for her again and her control almost slips through her grasp as a scream wants to burst from her but when he crushes her to his chest it all collapses to nothing.

"I almost lost you once, WildCat." He does not say more and Catherine's knees nearly buckle at his words. What she had thought was anger directed at her was actually fear for her life. She had no idea that a man such as he, who had admitted to killing many people over years of his life, could fear anything. Despite her frustration with his single mindedness regarding her pregnancy, that issue is dimmed by the shadow of Connor's concern for her. At last Connor steps back to look at her with his hands on her face.  Catherine rises onto her tiptoes, puts her arms around his neck and returns his hug.

"I won't leave again. I promise." His response is to squeeze her even tighter, shaking his head next to hers and pressing the last of the air out of her lungs in a groaning hiss as her ribs come close to cracking. When he loosens his arms, she has to catch her breath. Connor transfixes her with one of his piercing stares, his eyes consuming her like fire.

"I will not make you promise that. I understand the need to escape at times. I only ask that you consider how far and fast you run and remember that I am only a man. I have no horse to chase you, though I would try if I thought I could save you from harm. Do not risk my failure." His voice is measured, as if he is weighing the merit of his words before he speaks them. Catherine runs some of his hair through her fingers as she nods. When she rests her head against his chest, she is surprised to find his heart beating much faster than his voice and expression had shown. _How does he live with such intensity inside him and not be completely annihilated by its influence?_   she wonders.  His love for her is too much at times, the weight of it so heavy she fears she will be ground to dust if she tries to contain it in any way. And God save the soul of whoever provokes Connor's anger. He had carried out a small massacre at the cabin, walking away with only the blood of his enemies marking him and none of his own until she had scratched him. _Only a man_ , he had described himself, yet as Catherine stands there, dwarfed by his immense size, enveloped in arms almost the circumference of her thighs and caressed by hands that seem made exclusively for holding weapons, she can't help but think he is understating his capabilities if pushed to the extremity of his limits. She has no desire to test her theory. She knows he would never harm her if she did but she suspects the damage such cruel defiance would do to him would be irreparable.

The thought of harming Connor in such a surgical, premeditated manner is beyond Catherine's comprehension. It would make her as hideous a monster as her husband or her father in law. She slides her hands down from around his neck and grips his sleeves at his elbows, rolling the heavy, textured material between her fingers. Connor's heart slows to a more normal pace and some of the rigidity leaves his arms so Catherine takes the initiative to step back. He holds her by the shoulders and looks gently at her, much of the strange, angry worry gone from his countenance. With his right hand, he brings his fingers toward her face, brushing her cheek more softly than a feather and running his fingertips down to her lips. His touch lingers there before he completely lets her go. When he turns from her and walks away from the cabin, Catherine lets out the breath she didn't know she had been holding.

That night, Connor takes his usual place on his bedroll by the fire.  A pang of sadness courses through Catherine that he doesn't want to be beside her despite the sincere love and concern he had expressed earlier.  Extreme shame follows in its wake, for she feels responsible for his reluctance to set aside his strict morals, even if she wishes nothing untoward to creep into what should merely have been comfort and companionship.  She pulls the blankets up and hides her face from Connor, lest he see the hurt and regret on her face.  

Two days later, Connor has not brought up her their near-sexual encounter, her visit to the ruined cabin or their mostly one-sided conversation about her pregnancy again. The frustration that had originally driven Catherine to flee Connor's presence on the horse slowly resurfaces, giving her mind something to grate against. She tries her best to be genial, quietly taking his instruction on using a knife to defend herself. She goes through the motions of practicing; stabbing logs to strengthen her wrists and grip and wielding a short stick in place of Connor's hunting knife to practice with him as her opponent. Catherine uses her irritation with him as a personal spur, adding power to her jabs and stabs in an attempt to retaliate against him. He had really touched a nerve when they had spoken about her pregnancy days earlier and it continues to chafe, keeping her up long into the night. Something about it bothers her and she cannot see what it is that distresses her so much, which is all the more infuriating.

Connor watches her with his aggravatingly emotive eyes framed by his perpetual neutral expression on his face, his gaze seemingly filled with his statement to her that day before she rode off. _The child will be mine in every respect._ He is a master at maintaining his stoic countenance but his eyes betray him time and again like an enemy. His silence is almost worse than his blatant truths and it makes Catherine want to scream at him just to get a reaction on that face. After blocking several more of her attacks, Connor has her at a losing stance yet again with his stick against her neck. He scolds her in his quiet voice for not staying focused.

"You are not concentrating. Your thrusts are uncontrolled and you are allowing your thoughts to distract you. Go again. Stay calm this time." Catherine steps back, throws her hands up in the air and shouts at him.

"I am calm!" Instead of becoming angry with her for her outburst, Connor smiles. Catherine clenches her teeth and growls shrilly in frustration. _Damn that man! Damn him! Now he's laughing at me!_

Connor can't stop himself. Catherine's extreme contradiction was both endearing and humorous. The more he tries to stop, the harder he laughs. Catherine has her hands on her hips and she looks positively feral.

"Connor!" She cries in frustration.  Connor doubles over and stumbles a few steps away.  Catherine's practice stick bounces off the back of his shoulders and it only makes him laugh harder. He turns to face Catherine. She has her arms crossed over her chest and her head is tilted down but she glares at him through her eyelashes. Connor's voice is broken by his amusement as he speaks. He raises his hands palm up by his sides in confusion and gestures with the stick he holds in his right hand.

"This is you being calm? WildCat, you are living up to your name today. What has taken you?"

"You! You make me crazy!"

"I do not know what I have done to anger you." Catherine purses her lips in response, crushing them together stubbornly. It is the closest thing to a pout Connor thinks he will ever see on her face. She blusters and casts about for an answer, coming up with nothing but half articulated words and angry gesticulations until she storms into the cabin, slamming the door behind her. Connor flinches at the abuse to the innocent wooden door but is grateful she did not ride away on the horse, leaving him worrying for her safety.

In the early hours after midnight, when her exhaustion finally starts to slow her racing heart and swirling thoughts she realizes what it is that had been eating away at her so much. Ever since Catherine had made up her mind to stay with Connor, there was never a conversation about intentions. He had given her clear indications of his affection for her and she had gone to him, let him take her in his arms and kiss her. She had accepted his many chaste kisses on her cheeks and allowed him to hold her close. It had all started to feel so right until she had discovered her pregnancy. Even then, she had not rebuffed Connor when he had kissed her on her mouth. Rather, she had acquiesced when he had begged her with his eyes and continued to let him kiss her intimately since. But he had not asked in any way to be the father of the child he did not put inside her; he only told her he would be. She is angry over mere semantics.  It is partly because of his kindness and uncomplicated sincerity that she still fights against seeing him as the father of this unwanted child. Connor sees things so clearly as right or wrong yet he has accepted something so morbidly wrong as right. To him, it is correct and he perceives it no other way. If it were indeed a child of his making things would be so much easier.

The truth reveals itself to Catherine like a slow awakening; two facets of their relationship have become linked inextricably by her pregnancy. Connor cannot be a husband to her without also being a father. Anything else would be impossible for him. The simplicity of it is so obvious that Catherine is dumbfounded as to why she had not realized it sooner. Connor had come to that conclusion weeks ago and accepted it as merely a part of his future with her. He acknowledged that he cannot choose one over the other so he must take them both and be happy about it. Guilt washes over her for being angry with him and so adamantly resisting his selflessness until it had become a poison in her blood, corrupting her attitude and inhibiting her ability to think clearly. And even worse, she had used his desire for her against him when he had joined her in bed, twisting it into something empty and meaningless. No wonder he had stopped her. Sitting up, Catherine stares through the cold darkness at where Connor lies by the fire. She wonders if he is truly asleep or merely keeping quiet despite her tossing and turning.

"Connor…" her whisper is barely audible even to her ears. Throwing off the blankets, she crawls to the foot of the bed and calls out in a slightly louder whisper.

"Connor…" He sits up immediately, confirming Catherine's suspicions.  He gets to his feet and walks silently to stand at the end of the bed. Catherine scoots forward on her knees and hugs him fiercely, her head resting on the top of his abdomen just below his pectoral muscles.

Connor looks down at her dark head against him and uses both his hands to stroke her hair as she clings to him.

"What is it WildCat?"

"Nothing." Her statement is the opposite of her actions and Connor is additionally taken aback when she pulls on his sides.

Connor stands rigid, barely even moving when Catherine tries to make him come closer; the muscles in his abdomen shift slightly under her hands as he resists her. Her hands are over the tattoos on his sides and for a fleeting moment, she pictures her fingernails scraping along him, making the marks he has had inked onto his skin. He moves his hands to her upper arms and looks questioningly at her when she tips her head upwards to look at him impatiently.

"WildCat?"

"Just come here!" Catherine's words burst out of her. Connor stops resisting and lets her pull him as she lies back until he is bent over the bed with his hands on either side of Catherine's body and his face almost perfectly aligned with hers. Carefully keeping himself from touching her, he bends his right knee up and leans his weight on it next to her left leg, his left foot still touching the floor. The last thing he wants is a repeat of the other morning. Catherine touches his left shoulder with her fingertips, sliding them down to his wrist and he fears he will be forced to stop her again. With both of her hands, she takes his left hand in hers and he leans his weight on his right arm to allow her to lift it. Placing his palm low on her stomach, she presses down on it and looks up at him.

"The child will be yours." He is silent and Catherine watches the way his eyes reflect the small amount of pale moonlight in the room as they roam from her hands covering his resting on her stomach and back up to her face.

"You are certain?"

"So now you're asking?"

"I do not understand what you are implying."

"You decided to be the father of this baby without asking me. Now you're asking." She shakes her head as she goes on.  "Never mind. I'm letting you… I want you to be, because I finally understand your reasoning." Connor takes his hand from Catherine's stomach and brings it under her waist, sliding her up higher on the bed until her head is close to the pillow. He moves up to join her and eases his weight down, lying on his right side facing Catherine with his arm still around her waist. She straightens her body out and tucks the pillow under her head, pushing it over so Connor can share it with her. He kisses her softly on her lips once and squeezes her waist. Slowly, he slides his hand back down to the place above her womb and rests his hand there, laying his head beside hers.

Though her body bears no visible signs, Connor imagines he can sense the life inside her. He hopes he can be a good father to this child. Never having had a decent, lasting relationship with his own father, yet maintaining hope that he can provide a loving role model to a child that is not of his blood makes his mouth twist in cynical irony. _What would mother think of me if she were still alive? Would she be proud? Would she laugh and wonder if I have been touched in the head? What a strange life I live._ Despite his ruminations, Connor knows it could never be any other way. Catherine shivers and Connor reaches back to the blankets and pulls them over her, cocooning them both under the heavy warmth of both blanket and affection.


	13. Awakening

Awakening

Anika contemplates the distance they must travel and rues the monotony of the forest around them. It is only their second full day of riding, yet the pattern of the lengthy hours that pass mimic the day before. Sonehso:wa left some time ago to hunt and she is continuing on with the horse. The trees are farther apart in this portion of the woods and the snow is slightly deeper. If not for her long skirts always wanting to tangle in the few inches of snow, she would have walked beside the horse just for a change. Her body is sore from so much riding and her heart aches with a desperate need to see Catherine again. Anxiety wells up in her stomach. It still does not seem possible that her best friend is actually alive. Anika had finally accepted that she was gone and had done her best to move on without the dearest friend she had ever had. She had overcome the loss of her family all those years ago but she had been practically a child then. Losing Cat had felt worse because it was so senseless. Her family had died from illness, a few lost souls among countless others. Catherine had been targeted, and under her own husband and father in law's orders. Anika is sickened anew to know that they had both been living in a house together with those men. _Would I, too have been taken if I'd been with Cat that day?_ She could not have borne seeing Catherine brutalized before her eyes. She would certainly have been given the same mistreatment but seeing the suffering of someone she loves so dearly would have broken her completely.

Sonehso:wa returns to her side bearing a collection of squirrels. He holds them up proudly with a grin, causing her to set aside her anxiety and laugh at his exaggerated glee. He secures them to the horse and then hops up behind her.

"You really know how to spoil a lady, don't you?" Anika says with merriment in her voice.

"Anything for the yellow-haired Elder Sister."  Sonehso:wa touches the ends of her hair.

"Who's that?"

"The Elder Sister? She is one of the sacred Three Sisters." His tone takes on the quality of an experienced story teller, serious yet full of expression. "They are the diohe'ko, our most important crops; beans, squash and corn. Together they are the life sustainers for the Haudenosaunee. The youngest sister is bean. She can only stand with the help of the eldest sister. The middle sister is squash and she loves to dance in the summer wind. The eldest sister is corn. She is the strongest and has yellow hair." Anika makes a considering sound in her throat.

"Does this make me a powerful corn-goddess, then?" she lifts her long hair from where it hangs down the front of her body almost to her hips and tosses it backwards toward Sonehso:wa where it slips over his arm and shoulder with the wind and settles between them. He laughs heartily, returning to his characteristic jocular manner.

"No, Jitkwa:'e, but I think you are blessed by her spirit." He takes a section of her hair and runs it through his fingers.

"Oh. I was hoping I could be an almighty goddess and all mankind would worship my magnificent golden hair." Anika brings her arms out to the sides, turning her head as if she is looking down upon bowing masses at her feet.

"Hmmm." Is all Sonehso:wa says in reply, letting the evidence of his amusement shine through in the sound. Anika leans back against Sonehso:wa's chest with a soft laugh and he loosely wraps one arm around her waist and takes the reins from her with the other. She finds it endearing that he has given her a nickname simply for the color of her hair. His easy sense of humor makes what could be an arduous experience so much more agreeable. When he shamelessly flirts with her she often catches herself flirting back.

Plenty of men had made advances toward her in New York recently, most of them using crass words and vulgar gestures, making it clear they wanted only one thing. She and Catherine always turned heads when they were together but once Anika was alone and dressed in servant's garb, the looks became lewd and inappropriate. No longer seen as a woman of class, she became the target of every lusty drunk and seedy vagrant who passed by. She took to hiding her face and form, grateful for the cold winds of winter giving her a reason to cover up with her shawl.  Even covering up hadn't saved her only a few days ago from the filthy hands of the man in the alley. In contrast to all that repellent behavior, Sonehso:wa seems determined to keep her laughing and conversing from sunup to sundown with no suggestion of wanting anything in return. It is a refreshing change for her. For once, she doesn't need to hide her face, afraid her features will draw unwanted attention. Anika is grateful Sonehso:wa isn't a disgusting rogue trying to grope her in an alleyway or offering her some small coin or another to lift her skirts and let him have a poke.

They come across a small stream and follow its path until evening when they camp near a small rock face. At the campfire, Sonehso:wa skins and prepares the squirrels for roasting, so Anika follows the river around a bend and does her best to wash herself in the frigid water. She takes off her dress and kneels in her corset and shift on the bank. All she manages is a cursory splash of icy water on her arms and face before she becomes too cold to care about cleanliness anymore. She aggressively scrubs her exposed skin and pulls her dress back on in a hurry, buttoning it up the front as she walks back to the fire in the quickly fading light.

Sonehso:wa sees her struggling to fasten the last of her buttons with numb fingers as she approaches. When she drops down on the mat in front of the fire next to him, shivering, he reaches behind her, pulls the blanket free from under the corner of the mat and drapes it over her shoulders as she stretches her hands toward the flames with a sigh. Her cheeks are pink from the cold and a few damp tendrils of hair are stuck to her face.

"Thank you. I would give anything for a warm bath instead of that river water! That was awful!" Anika carefully covers every inch of her body with the blanket, making sure there are no sneaky gaps to let in the cold air. She raises her hands up inside the blanket and covers the bottom half of her face with the thick material.

"You should try jumping in sometime. It is invigorating."

"Are you crazy? That water is freezing! I'd probably die!" Her exclamation is muffled and all Sonehso:wa can see of her are her eyes but they are wide and expressive. He smiles into the fire and turns the roasting squirrels.

"I jump off a cliff into a deep part of the river every winter with the other men at the village. It is a tradition of ours that we do for fun. Sometimes some of the women join us." Anika drops the blanket slightly and shakes her head at him, her mouth partly open and her eyes narrowed. Sonehso:wa laughs quietly at her expression.

"I would never do that!" Anika's voice is filled with shock.

"I think you would."

"Oh? And what makes you so sure?" Anika raises an eyebrow at him challengingly.

"Cat said both of you were so full of alcohol that night you ripped your skirt that you were bumping into things and laughing about it even though you were trying to conceal your behavior. That tells me you enjoy taking risks." Anika sniffs at his speculation.

"That only happened once… but I admit we did have a lot of fun. The next day was terribly unpleasant, though. Cat's father scolded us for sleeping late and being lazy but we were both sick from all that rum and cider." Sonehso:wa is grinning widely at her admission and when he raises a dark eyebrow back at her smugly she can't help but laugh sheepishly.  "You still won't find me jumping into a river in the middle of March."

"There is a waterfall at the cabin. I might be able to convince you. It will probably be closer to the end of March by then…" His cheekiness makes Anika shake her head and cross her arms, the blanket rolling between them and her body. Sonehso:wa looks at her from the sides of his eyes and smirks. A twitch crosses Anika's lips and she turns her head away, letting her hair fall down to hide her face but Sonehso:wa sees her shoulders hunch in silent laughter.

Anika wakes up shivering in the night. She pulls the blanket close around her neck and tries to settle more of her body against Sonehso:wa's, turning her head to warm her freezing nose against him. Her restless movements rouse him and he opens his eyes as she is pulling her shawl up over her head further. He reaches up to touch her hand.

"You are cold." His hand is warm against her skin and Anika nods. Sonehso:wa moves his hand to her cheek and neck under her shawl, slowly caressing her skin to warm it. The skin on his palm is hardened by calluses, likely from years of hard work and weapon use, yet his gentle and intimate touch against her neck sends an unexpected thrill down her body. A shuddering feeling of heat radiates through her, making her grip his shirt under his wrap. Closing her eyes, Anika breathes deeply, trying to control her racing heart.  Sonehso:wa's muscles tense and he rolls up on his side to face her, moving his right hand from her cheek to her upper arm and tipping her body back. For a brief moment when Anika opens her eyes, their faces are so close she thinks he is going to try to kiss her. She grips his shirt tighter, not sure if she wants to push him away or pull him closer. He moves his hand over hers on his shirt and runs his thumb over her knuckles and the back of her hand before lightly taking her wrist in his grasp. He gently pulls at her arm.  "If you let go and lie on your other side, I will keep you warm."

Anika notices how tightly she is clutching Soneshso:wa's shirt and releases it immediately, moving her hand out of his fingers to the mat behind her. She turns her body and Sonehso:wa moves over enough for her to settle her back against him with her knees bent. Her neck aches as she keeps her head raised up uncomfortably, clutching her hands together close to her chest until Sonehso:wa slides his left arm under her head, giving her something to rest it on. With his right hand, he covers them both with the blanket, pulling it up high as Anika unclasps her hands and positions her shawl around her face. Once the blanket is in place, Sonehso:wa brings his right arm over Anika's side and takes her hand where it rests near her chin. He situates his body against hers and matches the bend in her legs with his.

Anika takes a shuddering breath as Sonehso:wa tightens his arm around her. The full length of her body is in contact with him and it is disturbingly good. His arm is resting against her breast and every breath she takes increases the pressure of it on her. Some of his warm exhalations pass through her shawl to the skin of her neck, making her more aware of him than ever. He caresses her hand with his thumb and Anika closes her eyes and tries to ignore what she is feeling. Any amount of movement renews the sensations of his body against hers and her heart fills with a strange mix of anxiety and longing. In an attempt to keep calm, Anika concentrates on slowing her breathing but Sonehso:wa's warm, strong body and his hand caressing hers steadily undermine her efforts.

The pulse in Anika's wrist flutters rapidly where Sonehso:wa's smallest finger rests against her skin and it is obvious she is working hard to keep her breathing even. The heat between their bodies is almost too much for him but at least she is no longer cold. Anika's reaction to his touch is unlike any other woman's he had been intimate with before. Never had a woman tensed up and acted so uneasily while in every other way her body responded predictably to his touch. Anika comes from a different world and based on her reaction to him, intimacy is not something as widely celebrated as it is with his people. That saddens him, for Anika is a beautiful woman and she should be enjoying what men can give her, not recoiling from it. He knows he is talented in pleasuring women and he eagerly wants to demonstrate his skill to Anika.  His sensibility reminds him that if she is so tense now, she will probably grab his knife and stab him if he tries to caress her openly. Determined to eventually show her she has no reason to fear his touch, he resolves to be as patient as she needs and not to rush things. His eyes open suddenly and he lifts his head to look at Anika's face. She is stiffly staring straight ahead so he lies down again quickly. _Does she find me unattractive?  Am I disgusting to her?_  He hadn't thought of that as a possibility. It worries him and he slows his thumb stroking her hand until he is completely motionless.

Anika has been turned inside out. Somehow it seems she is more aware of her body than ever before, as if she has grown a thousand more nerves everywhere Sonehso:wa's body is in contact with hers. His hand burns against her skin and she imagines his arms around her without the barrier of clothing between them. _How would it feel to lie with a man as a wife lies with her husband?_ The thought makes her want to gasp but she schools herself to stillness. She cannot deny being drawn to Sonehso:wa. From the moment she first saw him she found him to be a handsome man, if a little imposing for his height. His extraordinarily long hair was strange to her in the beginning, but his facial features were always dark and appealing. Their days and nights together, spending hours in each other's company, has proven him to be a friendly and charming companion in addition to being easy on the eyes. He makes her laugh and doesn't like seeing her sad or upset, especially in regard to Catherine. He speaks with her respectfully as an equal instead of an inferior as many men were prone to do, especially with Anika fulfilling a servant's duties.  

In the moonlight, she observes the way his long fingers curl around her hand. Anika closes her eyes and focuses on the feel of his arm against hers, following it with her mind as it crosses over her and up her side to her shoulder. She feels protected by him and cared for, this man who is so completely different from any other she had ever been acquainted with. His way of life is unlike hers; his culture and religion are foreign and his people far from here. Even the way he wears clothing and jewelry is unfamiliar. She moves her hand out from his and touches the bracelets on his wrist. He stirs behind her. She wonders if he is already asleep, for his thumb is no longer stroking her hand. Anika listens to his breathing, allowing the even rise and fall of his chest to lull her back to sleep at last.

Anika wakes with the early sunrise. Her body hurts less and she wonders if she is starting to get used to sleeping on the ground in the freezing cold. She moves Sonehso:wa's arm lower so she can sit up. Her shawl is under the arm he is resting his head on and it slides off her shoulders as she sits up. She takes his right hand in both of hers and carefully lifts it while she moves away and turns to kneel facing him. Placing his hand on the mat and pulling the blanket back up, Anika watches his face as he sleeps. His eyebrows are full and dark and she notices his eyelashes for the first time. They are long, slightly curled and contrast deeply with his skin, just as his hair does where it partially covers his right cheek. With one finger of her left hand she moves his hair down toward his neck, exposing his jawline. He really is a striking and attractive man. Reacting to some inexplicable impulse, she leans forward and kisses his cheekbone, barely brushing his skin with her lips. He smells of smoky, dry earth and warm spice, an agreeable combination of scents that Anika finds pleasing. Perturbed by her impulsive act, she sits back and touches her lips with her fingers. Getting up quickly, she walks away from where Sonehso:wa lies, her stomach knotted in uncertainty.

Sonehso:wa opens his eyes when he hears Anika move away from him. Her shawl is in a pile in front of him and he moves his hand up, gathers the soft fabric in his fingers and brings it to his face. The material holds her scent and Sonehso:wa breathes it in, remembering the feel of her fingers as she touched his hair and face. He had almost reached to take her hand as she had but changed his mind. His pretense had rewarded him with her kiss and he had overturned his temptation at that moment to reveal his awareness of her actions, choosing to let her think he was asleep. Over by the rock face, Anika uses the toe of her boot to push a stone into the fast moving water at her feet. She has her arms wrapped around herself and the breeze blows her dark skirt around her legs and twists her golden hair about. Despite her reaction to him last night, she kissed him and he is unsure what to make of that. He hopes it means she does not consider him to be hideously unattractive. Sonehso:wa sits up and stirs the dead ashes of the fire with a nearby stick. Movement catches his eyes and he returns his attention to Anika and watches as she walks away along the bank. She looks over her shoulder at their campsite and Sonehso:wa raises his hand to acknowledge her. The wind gusts, blowing her hair over her face and she scoops it away idly with her fingers as she redirects her wandering path. _Can she possibly be more beautiful?_ Sonehso:wa muses.  He stands as she nears and lets her shawl fall open from his hand. She takes it from him and drapes it over her shoulders with a shy smile. He says nothing of her kiss.

After eating a cold breakfast, they pack up their few things but instead of riding, they walk together beside the horse. Sonehso:wa carries the reins loosely in his left hand and Anika holds two handfuls of her skirts against her hips to keep them raised up enough for unobstructed walking. Sonehso:wa turns his head slightly toward Anika to speak as they travel, keeping an eye both on where he is walking and on her.

"We are closer to Albany now. We may reach it by afternoon tomorrow. I saw more farms when I was hunting yesterday."

"Do you plan to stop in the city?"

"Yes. We are on the wrong side of the river though. We will have to be cautious when we cross. It could draw attention if we are seen together."

"It could draw attention if I'm by myself." Anika watches as Sonehso:wa considers her words, nodding.

"We will wait until darkness to enter the city. It will be safer. We will be less noticeable together and we can go to the man Ratonhnhake:ton sent me to before. He and his wife will allow us to stay in their house."

"Oh, it would be nice to sleep in a warm place for a night!" She looks up at Sonehso:wa quickly, an apology in her expression. "I assure you, I do appreciate your efforts to keep me warm." Sonehso:wa smiles down at her.

"I understand. I grew up sleeping out in the open when hunting and traveling so I am used to it."

"What about when you're not travelling?"

"We live in longhouses. They are not houses like you are used to. Not made of bricks or logs. Our longhouses hold many families together and are made of wooden poles, bark and hides."

"What was it like growing up in your village?"

"It was... normal.  I played in the woods with the other children, learned to hunt with a bow, build canoes, fish in the river, typical things. But when I was a little older, my mother was killed while she was planting one of the fields. When she had not returned by evening some of the men, including my father went looking for her. They found her and a white man who must have attacked her.  Both of them were dead in the field."

"Oh, Sonehso:wa, that's awful! I'm so sorry that happened to her!"

"It was hard for me then. It changed me. I became angry at the colonists and considered them all to be a threat. I know now that the man that killed my mother did not represent all of the colonists. But it took a long time for me to accept it."  He is silent after he speaks and Anika considers his words, knowing she herself is an interloper.

"I can understand that. I admit that the idea of leaving with you that night in New York terrified me. I was so afraid of you at first but now I know that I'm safe with you and you aren't a barbarian at all, just different."

"You hid your fear well. I knew you did not trust me but not that you were very frightened of me."

"At first I was more afraid of the men who wanted to attack me. Once we were away from the city, I became afraid of being alone with you. You killed two men!"

"I had to kill them. I promised to keep you safe."

"I know. But I've never seen anyone kill a man before. Have you ever... Well what I mean is... Is killing a practice you've done frequently?"

"Yes."  His candid, matter of fact tone is both calming and disturbing to Anika. "All the men must defend our village, our crops and our families. We train in warfare. Ratonhnhake:ton taught me how to fight better with my hands and with weapons."

"Is he a warrior in your village?"

"Yes… Almost all the men are. Does that frighten you?"

"Only if he intends to harm Cat." Sonehso:wa gapes at her, shaking his head.

"Ratonhnhake:ton would never harm a woman! Especially not a woman he cares for."

"A woman… he _cares_ for?" Anika looks up wide-eyed at Sonehso:wa.

"Ratonhnhake:ton finds Cat very attractive and I think she likes him in return." 

"Oh… my!" Anika places her hand on her chest.

"Does that upset you, Jitkwa:'e?"

"No, I… It's unexpected, is all."

"Is it because he is a barbarian?" Sonehso:wa tries to keep his face serious when Anika looks up at him sharply but he fails and smiles instead.

"What? Heavens, no! That's the least of my concerns. This isn't something to joke about, Sonehso:wa! Cat has been though all that abuse and she's letting him… she's unwell!  She can't be of sound mind!" Anika stops and lets her skirts fall to the ground. Sonehso:wa halts the grey as he faces her with his hand out.

"You do not have to fear for Cat or her mind. Ratonhnhake:ton sleeps on the floor and she sleeps alone in the bed. He has a very strong sense of honor and he would not touch her unless she wants him to."

"Oh…." Anika's face is hot with embarrassment from the direction their discussion had taken. Not knowing what Ratonhnhake:ton looks like, all she can picture is Sonehso:wa in a bed with Cat, touching her naked body.

"Does the idea of her being with him concern you?"

"I don't know.  I suppose not.  She was officially declared dead, ending her marriage to Francisco. He has legal documents so she's free to choose whomever she wants now…"

"Even a Haudenosaunee man?"

"Well, yes, if she wants him."

"Would you ever consider a Haudenosaunee man?" Anika drops her eyes to the ground, unsure of how to answer his question. Sonehso:wa had a half smile on his face yet somehow managed to give off an air of total innocence despite his question. In Anika's mind, the image of Cat sharing a bed with Sonehso:wa becomes her instead. She is suddenly self conscious of the kiss she gave him, realizing he is indeed aware of what she'd done.  She is afraid she has given him the wrong impression, though when she thinks about it, she doubts it is entirely wrong.  Her heart beats faster at the thought of him wanting her, even as she attempts to stifle the concept for she barely knows the man.

Sonehso:wa watches a myriad of tiny changes cross Anika's face, altering her expression from startled confusion, to skepticism, anxiety and finally consideration. She does not answer his question and he tries to lighten the strange atmosphere they have found themselves in.

"I do not frighten you with how I look, do I?" He circles his palm in front of his face and Anika shakes her head. He raises his arms up slightly and makes a small, sudden lunging move toward her with a wide grin splitting his expression. Anika turns away, pulling her shawl up from her shoulder to cover the lower half of her face. Sonehso:wa steps closer and Anika pushes him away with her hand against his chest, dropping the edge of the shawl as she does and revealing a beaming smile. Sonehso:wa brings both hands to his chest and stumbles backwards, leaning against the belly of the horse as if she struck him a heavy blow.

"Aaah! The courageous woman defeats the ugly, barbarian savage!"

"Stop it, Sonehso:wa! You're not an ugly, barbarian savage!" Anika's laugh betrays her even as she crosses her arms under her breasts and huffs. When she glances back up at Sonehso:wa, he is watching her with an affectionate smile so she adds to her comment.  "You are, however, a buffoon!" Sonehso:wa raises his eyebrows at her as he continues to chuckle.

"I do not know that word but I hope it means something good."

"It means you make jokes and play tricks and don't take anything seriously."

"A fitting description!"

"It may get you into trouble some day."

"It already has." he states proudly and Anika shakes her head and laughs again, throwing her hands up in exaggerated despair before turning him around by one arm and pushing him to walk again. His laughter echoes in the quiet forest.

They skirt along the edge of a farm and Sonehso:wa lifts Anika onto the horse as the snow becomes deeper among the thinner trees. When they reenter the dense cover of more woods, he leaves her side to hunt. Anika feels a real sense of loss when he leaves this time and she wonders if she's completely crazy to let herself fall for him. Anika smiles as she thinks about their earlier conversation and how he trapped her with his surprising question. She mocks his voice under her breath.

 _Would you consider a Haudenosaunee man, Anika?_ She looks up at the sky between the bare branches of the trees and laughs softly, shaking her head. She is considering it at the very moment simply by dwelling on the thought.  Anika lowers her face back down to the view in front of her and is startled when a man steps out from behind a tree. He moves quickly towards her and takes the bridle of the horse in his hand, stopping the animal. Dressed in worn clothing and carrying a short sword on his hip, he looks like a rough sort. His hair is pulled back under a close fitting hat into a loose ponytail and it's hard to tell what color it is for its greasiness. He is unshaven and unkempt, as if he had spent the past several months living in a pig sty.

"Hello there, pretty thing. What are you doing out here all by yourself?" His dirty fingers tighten on the bridle as the grey horse shifts, sensing his rider's fear.

"I'm not by myself. You'd best release my horse, good sir."

"I don't see no one else. 'Cept my good friend, John here." A second man approaches her side. He takes off his hat and bows grandly, smiling widely and exposing a blackened grin. He is just as filthy as the first man.

"Your 'orse, eh? You 'ave the look of a runaway serving girl about you, all dressed in blue. I'm guessing you stole this 'ere 'orse from your master. You must've been 'is favorite." He curls his lip and lewdly waggles his tongue at her with a slobbering sound and then laughs with a wheezy quality that sends chills into Anika's blood. Looking over at his friend, the man called John informs his companion of his grand revelation.  "We've got ourselves a 'orse thief, Sammy!  An' a right good catch, indeed, from th' looks of 'er." He reaches for Anika's leg as if to stroke it but Anika kicks at him.

"Stay away! Don't you dare touch me!" John laughs as he dodges her kick.

"Oh-ho!  Feisty too!"  He grabs her ankle. Anika cries out loudly and swings at his head. He snatches her fist from the air and drags her off the horse, plucking the reins from her hand. _Is this how it happened for Cat?_ Anika wonders in a panic.  She thrashes in his grip and screams Sonehso:wa's name as loudly as she can but any additional cries are cut off when she lands in the snow.  John pushes her face down into the snow. It is painfully cold on her skin, and the icy crust below the shallow dusting on the surface scratches against her skin. The man straddles her and pulls her arms behind her back, wrenching her wrists up between her shoulder blades. Anika screams in pain as he pushes down on her wrists. Her shoulders feel like they are both on fire at the pressure. They burn even worse when she is jerked backwards and up against his chest so she is kneeling with her hands painfully high behind her shoulders. Sammy crunches through the snow and kneels before her. Anika struggles against her captor, trying to bend forward to ease the pain in her arms. She screams for Sonehso:wa twice more before Sammy wraps his left hand around her throat, pushing her back against John and increasing her pain exponentially. His grip reduces the volume of her cries to strangled gurgles. He brandishes a knife in his other hand, shushing at her.

"Shhh, my sweet. Don't fight it.  We'll be done wi' ya' soon enough." He releases her neck and takes the front of her dress in his hands. With a sudden movement, he rips the buttons open, leering at her exposed cleavage.

"No! Take your hands off me! Let me go!" Anika struggles again and her cries turn into screams of pain as John raises her wrists higher behind her. Sammy leans in close and takes a handful of her hair at the right side of her face, tipping her head up. She arches backwards, trying to ease the burning in her shoulders and John takes advantage of her nearness to loudly smell her hair and express his approval, making her body quake uncontrollably in terror. Sammy's breath is hot and foul on her when he speaks.

"I told ya' it would go easier if ya'd just stop fighting. D'ya want me to hurt you? It would be a shame to mar these, though, wouldn't it?" He brings the hand holding the knife down and extends two fingers, dragging them roughly over her left breast before following them with his tongue.  When he has finished licking her, he presses the flat part of the blade down against the top fullness of her breast.  "You're a tasty treat!  I'll take her first Johnny but there'll be plenty left for ya!"  He laughs as Anika holds herself still, breathing hard. Sammy grins and breathily moves his face toward her cleavage again but then stops with a grunt and lowers the knife, loosening his grip on the side of her head. He falls to the side, his fingers tearing out some of Anika's hair. An arrow fletched with black feathers is buried deep in the side of his chest. John dives forward, pushing Anika down into the snow, his weight pressing on her back and trapped arms. Anika screams as an excruciating pop in her left shoulder sends a bloom of agony over her body and her face is forced into the icy snow once again. The man's weight is completely on her back, crushing the air out of her lungs and pinning her down. She is enveloped in a dark mist and her mouth and nose are blocked with snow. Lack of air causes a ringing in her ears that almost deafens her and her body starts to feel light, as if she is floating. Even the pain seems to fade into the encroaching blackness.

Distantly, a man is shouting but the sounds make no sense. The weight on top of her is suddenly lifted and dragged over her legs. Her left shoulder is agonizing and it is everything she can do to bring her right arm around and roll onto her right side, spitting out snow and gulping air. She moans in pain between every gasp for breath while her hearing clarifies and the floating feeling recedes. Snow melts on her chest and face and the water runs into her eyes when she opens them. Sammy is almost right beside her and Anika watches him as if in a dream as he writhes on the ground. His hand holds the bloody shaft of the arrow and more blood spatters from his mouth as he breathes. Anika touches her painful shoulder and slowly manages to turn her head towards her feet, only to see Sonehso:wa straddling John. His back is towards her and he is punching the man and parrying his attempts to return blows. John shouts sporadically and his feet scrabble uselessly for purchase in the snow. His boots dig deep tracks through to the wet, leafy earth below, leaving black scars in the snow. Sonehso:wa's knuckles are bloody by the time he pauses long enough to draw his knife and Anika closes her eyes as John's shouting turns to begging and then is abruptly silenced and replaced with a sickening gurgling.

Sonehso:wa wipes the blade on the dead man's clothes and stands, reeling around to Anika. She is lying on her right side and her eyes are squeezed shut, her face contorted in a grimace of pain as she holds her left shoulder with her right hand. Her arm hangs limply at a disturbing angle behind her back and there are reddened abrasions on her left cheek and chin. Sonehso:wa sheathes his knife as he kneels behind her, reaching toward her. She flinches with a loud gasp as he touches her side, her eyes opening suddenly.

"Jitkwa:'e, it is me."

"Those men…" She can barely speak the words through her clenched teeth.

"They are gone."

"I can't move my arm."

"I know. Let me lay you back." Sonehso:wa takes her left arm in his right hand and Anika grits her teeth and holds in a scream as he slowly moves it out to the side and rolls her with his left hand on her hip. In agony, she tries not to weep but the outward movement of her arm is too much and she cries out, flinging her right hand out to the ground as if she could grab onto something. The pain is exquisite, worse than anything she has ever felt in her life.

Anika is screaming by the time her shoulder touches the snow. Once she is on her back, Sonehso:wa rests her forearm against the inside of his right leg, letting her wrist and hand lie against his stomach while still holding her upper arm near her elbow. Her skin has gone nearly grey with shock, her eyes are glassy and she is panting openmouthed, shaking with pain. Bending her knees up, she raises her right hand out of the snow and twists it in her skirt, whimpering with every exhalation. Sonehso:wa gives her time to recover from being moved, looking her over for any other injuries. Her dress is open partly down the front, every button gone from the neck to just below her breasts. A cream colored brocade corset is laced up over a white shift with a significantly lower neckline than her dress has, revealing the rounded upper portion of her breasts above rows of narrow lace ruffles accented by blue thread. On the top of her left breast is a very thin cut beaded with tiny drops of blood that merge with the melting snow on her skin and trickle away. Two distinct patches of reddened, abraded skin mar her left cheek and chin.

When Anika's breathing slows and she appears to have recovered some lucidity, Sonehso:wa turns his attention to her shoulder. Doing his best to not be distracted by her pain and fear, but with her screams still echoing in his head, Sonehso:wa moves his left hand to her shoulder and slides it under her damaged dress to feel her injury. The knob of her shoulder is displaced behind her and Sonehso:wa's fingers follow the shape of the deformity. Anika squeezes a handful of her skirt against her thigh and gasps at his prodding, rubbing her feet together frantically.

"It is out of place, Jitkwa:'e. I need to put it back."

"How? Oh God, it hurts so much!"

"I will have to pull on your arm."

"No! Please, Sonehso:wa, no!" Her voice quavers and she shakes her head violently.  The action hurts her, for she gasps and then reaches her right hand toward him but Sonehso:wa pointedly nods his head while looking seriously into her eyes.

"It will only hurt for a short time. It will feel better when it is back in place." Tears pool in her eyes and the shining reflection of his face is mirrored over both of her green irises. She blinks and a tear slides down her face into her hair.

"No, no..." Anika pleads. Sonehso:wa withdraws his hand from her shoulder to touch her right cheek. He rubs his thumb over her damp cheekbone and she lowers her hand to his. Despite the sickness in his heart at her agonized horror, he keeps his voice calm.

"I would not do this to you if it would not help you. We cannot wait or it will become impossible to put back." Anika whimpers and Sonehso:wa slides his hand lower on her face to touch her trembling lips lightly with his thumb before moving his hand away. He takes her wrist in his left hand and tightens his grip on her elbow with his right. He leans his weight on his right knee and moves his left to just below her shoulder, bracing against her chest just above her left breast. Anika lets out a terrified cry and grabs the upper edge of his legging on his thigh in her right fist.  Sonehso:wa pauses as she meets his eyes. Her hand shakes and Sonehso:wa looks into her gaze, finally letting the concern in his heart affect his expression. Her eyes shine with tears and her lips are parted as she takes rapid, shaky breaths. Fear lends a heartbreaking quality to her beautiful features and Sonehso:wa's stomach churns at the necessity of what he needs to do.

"I am going to do it now," he says steadily.  Anika trembles but gives him a small nod so Sonehso:wa rises up, pressing his left knee down on her while pulling her arm out to the side and then up towards his chest. Anika cries out at the movement but before it can turn into a full scream of agony, a loud click comes from her joint and her pain almost vanishes.

Sonehso:wa hears her arm pop back into place, the jolt from the joint relocating communicating through her arm to his hands. He quickly takes his knee off of her chest, lays her arm down on her stomach and leans over her to touch her cheek again.

"It is done." Anika's eyes are wide but she holds Sonehso:wa's wrist with her right hand, taking smoother breaths.

"Try to sit up," Sonehso:wa slips his hand beneath Anika's back as she tighten's her grip on his wrist and he helps her to a seated position. Sonehso:wa takes the open edge of her dress's neckline in his right hand and slips his left hand under and onto her shoulder again. It seems normal to his touch.

"How does it feel now?" he asks.  Anika moves her shoulder tentatively and is surprised to feel very little pain until she shifts her arm backwards.

"It's better...  so much better!"

"Good. I do not think anything is broken." He takes his hand away and directs his attention to the scratches on Anika's face, turning it with his left hand on her chin.

Anika had forgotten about Sammy until a wheezing laugh comes from him. He sits partially up on his elbow and holds the arrow buried in his chest with one hand.

"A German whore and a fuckin' savage. I never thought I'd see a pair like ya'." He coughs and blood spatters from his mouth, adding to the trickles that are running down his chin into his beard. Sonehso:wa's face darkens as he lunges over and punches him, sending him back down into the snow. Sammy groans and weakly tries to push Sonehso:wa away. The golden hairs he ripped from Anika's head when he fell catch the light where they are trapped in his fingers, the fine strands moving in the breeze. The sight of them enrages Sonehso:wa. 

"Do not further dishonor yourself with your words." Sonehso:wa looms over him, gripping the hilt of his knife. Sammy rasps a response anyway.

"Kill me, then, and go fuck her yerself." He spits bloody saliva, the projectile barely missing Sonehso:wa's face. Muttering in his language with his mouth twisted in fury, Sonehso:wa grabs the arrow in the man's side, rips it from his body and tosses it aside. Dark blood pours from the wound and the man writhes in pain. Sonehso:wa takes a handful of Sammy's stringy hair and pushes his head back into the snow, unsheathing his knife and placing the blade against the skin of his neck. Before he can slit his throat, the light leaves the man's eyes and his body jerks once before slumping in death. Resheathing the knife, Sonehso:wa returns to Anika only to find her clutching her gaping dress closed and shivering. He picks up her shawl from the snow and shakes it out. Kneeling down in front of her, he drapes it around her shoulders. Anika jumps at his touch and turns away, her face filled with fear once again only this time it is for him. Sonehso:wa gently turns her face so he can wipe some blood from her cheek. Slowly moving his arms around her, he eases her toward him and hugs her. Anika's right hand is pressed against his chest and she rigidly resists his embrace.

"I am sorry, Jitkwa:'e. I am sorry you had to see that." Sonehso:wa strokes her hair softly in an attempt to soothe her. After what seems like an eternity, Anika shakily takes her arm out from between them and moves it around Sonehso:wa's waist, her body quivering against him.

"I will not allow anyone to harm you. You are safe with me." His voice is gruff and he pulls her tighter, stroking her hair with a firmer hand. He wants to tell her he would kill countless men if it would keep her safe but he knows she is in no condition to hear something like that. Anika sobs briefly into him and then is still.

"If you hadn't come when you did..." Anika leaves the rest of her thoughts unspoken but knows he understands her, for he grips her even harder. Sonehso:wa is tense and almost crushing her to him, taking deep, angry breaths.

"We must leave this place," Sonehso:wa finally says. Anika nods against his chest and he lowers his hand to her right elbow and assists her to her feet. Keeping his body between her and the sight of the two dead men, he guides her away from the scene of her attack. The grey horse had not wandered far and Sonehso:wa is careful when he lifts Anika up onto him. She grabs the horse's mane with her right hand to steady herself and leans down, resting her body on the animal's neck, not bothering to pull her skirts down as she always does. Sonehso:wa does it for her on the side he is standing, turns the horse to face away and returns to the dead men, frisking their bodies for any sign of a connection to Sergio. He finds nothing other than a few coins, some weevil-filled crusts of bread that he tosses into the snow, and their weapons. It is what he is expecting, but he had to be sure. Taking the sword and belt from Sammy and picking up his discarded arrow, Sonehso:wa returns to the horse. The shortsword and coins go in his bag and he cleans his arrow of the stringy, half-congealed blood coating it in the snow before returning it to his quiver. Back on the horse, Sonehso:wa places his left hand on Anika's back.

"We are going now." He says. Anika sits up, pressing her left arm to her stomach and holding her shawl tightly in her right fist. Sonehso:wa wraps his left arm around her waist, partially cradling her injured arm and when she tentatively leans back against him he kicks the horse into a canter. The memory of the two men attacking Anika and the sound of her voice screaming his name as he ran towards her fills him with anger, revulsion and a deep, sickening anxiety at the thought of what they would have done to her if he had not arrived in time. It recalls the hatred he had once had for all colonists, for he will never forget the sight of his father carrying his mother's naked corpse into the village, her stomach and chest punctured by several stab wounds. 

Grateful he was close enough when he heard her screams to reach her before they could take her from him, he presses his hand against Anika's stomach, holding her tightly to his body as they ride. There is no way he could have had any mercy for those men. They had to die but because of it Anika is fearful of him and it makes him sick. He wants spur the horse to a gallop but is afraid of jarring her shoulder and harming her further.

Sonehso:wa is clearly seething with anger for what transpired so Anika respects his silence as they ride, clutching her shawl closed and keeping her head bowed. His transition between extreme violence towards her attackers and gentle tenderness for her was as rapid as the snuffing of a candle. His aggressive protection of her is shocking and he seems willing to go to any length to ensure her safety. Sonehso:wa pulls her closer every now and then and clenches the reins in his right hand. Anika stares at the broken skin of his knuckles and the blood that has dried on the back of his hand and between his fingers. Her heart pounds in her chest when she thinks about him hitting the man who held her hard enough to break his skin and the violent rage he had flown into when the other man had insulted them. He was ready to slit his throat!  His capacity for violence is frightening yet he holds her as carefully as if she is a fragile thing. The dichotomy has thrown her into confusion. _Where is the man who laughs, jokes and flirts?_ she wonders. He has turned into a rabid beast with bared teeth and claws, ready to kill.

Eventually, Sonehso:wa lets the horse slow to a steady walk and eases his grip on her waist with a quiet sigh. The tension leaves his muscles and his body moves easier with the motion of the horse. Anika is relieved at the change. He feels more familiar behind her, no longer the frightening stranger of earlier. She lets go of her shawl and rests her hand on his right wrist, curling her fingers over his bracelets. The blood on his split knuckles is dried and almost black and she moves her fingers up towards them. Sonehso:wa does not react when she touches his injuries one by one.

"Where did you go back there? You weren't Sonehso:wa anymore. You were someone else." He lowers his face next to hers but she remains impassive, staring at their hands.

"Jitkwa:'e…" he breathes deeply and Anika swallows hard waiting for him to answer her, her fingers still touching his knuckles.

"That _was_ me. That was me when I was ten summers and my mother was murdered. That was me when I was seventeen summers and angry at everyone. I hated my father for leaving our tribe to join the Kanien'keha:ka. I hated the other woman he married because she was not my mother. I hated their language that I had to learn. That was me when I was twenty three and I hated Ratonhnhake:ton for being half white and an outsider yet accepted fully by the tribe. I was angry for _years_ and I distanced myself from everyone. Even though I have changed how I am since then, that fire is still in me." He sighs and releases the reins, turning his hand and taking Anika's.  "Anika."

She inhales when he speaks her given name.  Sonhehso:wa continues.

"All I could think of is what they were going to do to you. I could not let that happen and I could not let them live to do it to someone else. Those men were criminals. They deserved death. Anything less would have been agreeing with them." Anika trembles against him and he squeezes her hand.  "Do you understand? Anika?" Anika nods her head and Sonehso:wa watches a tear make its way down her cheek and drip from her chin. Releasing her hand, he traces its path with his fingers.  "I will never hurt you," he whispers in her ear, his warm breath stirring the hairs around her lobe. His lips find her skin just in front of her ear and he lightly kisses her in the wake of his fingers. Anika's body shudders. She is torn between her attraction to him and his rage. The same warm pleasure she felt before from his touch floods her body even as her mind is still in turmoil. His kiss is not a simple consoling gesture. Was his anger worsened because she is not just someone he vowed to protect, but a woman he feels affection for? Sonehso:wa keeps his face near hers and runs his fingers through a section of her hair before taking up the reins again, speaking quiet words to the horse in his language and clicking his tongue. His behavior, even if it is tinged with a possessive quality, is familiar and comforting, reminding her that the man she had spent so much time with in only a few days is still here with her.

Anika does not push him away or turn from his face and Sonehso:wa takes that as a good sign. He knows no other way to accurately express how he feels to her other than physical contact. He could say it in Ogwehoweh or Kanien'keha but she would not understand. The words he comes up with in English sound unrefined and base. She would be more likely to misunderstand him and think he is shallow or asking her to marry him. Instead, what he feels falls somewhere in between, a longing to give her pleasure, make her feel safe and share something on a deeper level as well. To make a connection that has meaning and substance, yet does not snare or restrain. She would be free to accept or reject him with no consequences. Unable to speak, he is stifled by inaction and forced to withhold the attentions that for so many of his people, bring comfort, relief and satisfaction in times of stress.

Ratonhnhake:ton understands the ways of white people better then he. He had been in a relationship with a white woman before and more than likely he will be in a better one with Cat before long. How does he handle their strange views on sex? Even Ratonhnhake:ton admitted he had not freely shared in it until he had been with his first woman shortly after the war ended. Sonehso:wa sighs. If Anika only knew the many things he could tell her in the languages that are familiar to him. He is startled when she puts her hand over his forearm. Her fingers curl into his sleeve and she rests her head back against his shoulder. Kissing her cheek again, Sonehso:wa loops the fingers of their left hands together on her stomach. They ride on unmoving and silent, both of them lost in separate ruminations.

"How did you know what to do for my arm?" Anika asks once they have settled by the evening's camp fire. Sonehso:wa sits closer to her side than usual and he turns his face down to look at her. They had spoken little during their travels leading up to stopping for the night.

"When I was very young, I had fallen out of a tree while playing and landed almost on my head. One of the women in my village found me crying on the ground and carried me back. My father looked at me and did just what I did to you. Then he scolded me for being foolish and falling from a tree. When I ran to the longhouse and told my mother what happened, she scolded me as well and then kissed me and sent me out to play again."

"And you remember from that long ago?"

"I am not an old man…" He speaks as if insulted and Anika sucks in her breath at his tone. He looks down at her again and smiles when he sees her face.  "I am only one summer older than Cat," he continues. Anika shakes her head.

"I suppose one would not soon forget the pain."

"No." Sonehso:wa considers her words. She did not react the way he had expected to his attempt at humor. Is she still afraid of him? Her mention of pain makes him reconsider.  "Are you in pain now, Jitkwa:'e?"

"Some." Her vague answer smacks of deception. He leans over and turns her face toward him with his right hand. As he does, his swollen and reddened knuckles remind him of his own discomfort. She must be feeling much worse than he is. Her face is smooth except for a tiny line between her eyebrows. Her lips are looking less full, probably because she is clenching her teeth.

"You are hurting more than you admit." Sonehso:wa holds his hand out to her.  "Give me your shawl." Anika slowly pulls it off of her shoulders with her right hand and gives it to him. He takes it and leans to the side, laying it out flat. He scoops handfuls of snow into it and when he has amassed a good amount, he folds the four corners of the shawl up and ties them in a looped knot.

"Lie down on your back." Anika does as he bids wordlessly, wincing when she drops her left arm down from her stomach. Sonehso:wa pulls the blanket up over her and then folds the corner covering her left shoulder down over her chest. He lowers the snow filled shawl onto her shoulder and uses his hands to encourage it to settle around the top of her shoulder and under her arm. When he is satisfied with the arrangement, he lightly touches her cheek before leaning back to his seated position near her knees. Anika is too uncomfortable in this new position to speak and has directed all her energy to holding in tears of pain. Sonehso:wa watches her for some time, occasionally turning back to the fire. Over time, Anika's shoulder grows cold and then starts to get numb, relieving her discomfort considerably.

She must have drifted off, because when Anika opens her eyes, Sonehso:wa is at her feet, sitting on the very end of the mat with his back against a tree. There is a large pile of branches and fallen wood gathered nearby and the fire is burning high. The heat of it is warm on her face. When she returns her gaze to where Sonehso:wa is sitting, she realizes he's actually asleep. His knees are bent up, his head is propped on the tree and his arms are crossed over his chest and tucked under his wrap. A stab of guilt makes Anika want to call out to him but when she tries to move over on the mat, the pain in her shoulder silences her voice before it can escape. Her clothes are soaked through to her skin everywhere under the shawl, which appears considerably emptier than before. Anika watches the fire and Sonehso:wa alternately until her eyes grow heavy and she drifts off.

Sonehso:wa feeds the fire throughout the night, napping until the flames sink low and the cold wakes him. Anika murmurs in her sleep, twitching and flinching, crying out once and startling him from his slumber. When the colors of dawn start to lighten the forest, he rises to his feet once again and gathers his bow, quiver and bag from next to Anika. He had taken her wet shawl from her shoulder during the night when it appeared to have exhausted its purpose and laid it out near the fire to dry. She now lies fully covered by the blanket, still sleeping. They had eaten some of the dried provisions left from his first trip through Albany for dinner but after the restless night he had had, Sonehso:wa wants a more substantial breakfast. He tosses a large piece of wood onto the fire and glances back at Anika before leaving the camp site in search of game.

Anika is alone when she wakes but not for long. The sun has fully risen and with the brightening light comes Sonehso:wa. He carries a basket with him. Anika struggles to a seated position and gasps as the pain in her shoulder sends starbursts lancing over her vision.

"Where did you get that?" Anika's voice is thick with sleep.

"I met a farmer and his wife when I was hunting. They accepted a trade for some food. I promised to return the basket and other things when we are done." As he comes close, the smell of fresh bread drifts from the basket enticingly.

"Oh! It smells like heaven!" Anika breathes, her eyes closed. They sit side by side and share the contents of the basket. Inside is a loaf of bread, a wedge of soft, yellow cheese, some boiled eggs and a lidded pot of black tea. All of the food is accompanied by some tin plates and cups and a generous helping of maple syrup in a glass jar.

"What did you trade for this?" Anika asks as she holds a steaming cup of tea in her hand and inhales the steam greedily.

"The sword I took from one of your attackers. It is useless to me but they wanted it for the leather and the steel." Anika sighs.

"Well, at least something good and useful resulted from what happened. I'm glad you took it." Her voice is bitter and Sonehso:wa looks down at her where she sits on his left.  He is sitting with his right arm resting on his bent knee so he switches his cup to his right hand and moves some of her hair off her shoulder with his left.  He follows it down her back with his fingers. Anika looks up at him as he does, her anger fading and her frown softening when he leans close and kisses the top of her head.

At the edge of the forest Sonehso:wa stops the grey and dismounts. He unties his blanket from the back of the horse and opens it, tossing it up to Anika.

"Put this over your body and cover as much of your clothing as possible. If you hide your yellow hair and keep your head down, you could pass as an Onondowaga woman." Anika does as he asks, pulling her shawl well forward over her hair and wrapping herself completely in the blanket with his help, draping its fringed edges down over her boots. Sonehso:wa walks around the horse to inspect her and reaches up to tug once on the blanket to more fully cover an exposed boot heel. Anika lowers her face and Sonehso:wa nods his approval.

Leading the horse by the reins and carrying the basket, Sonehso:wa brings Anika out of the cover of the forest and along the edge of a field. At the far edge, across from a small log cabin, he stops the horse and leaves her side to walk to the door. He knocks and an elderly woman opens it. From where Anika sits on the horse, shrouded in the blanket, she can see their interaction clearly but can't hear them. The woman takes the basket from Sonehso:wa's extended hand. They talk for a short time and the woman points in Anika's direction. After more conversation, Sonehso:wa steps backward and the woman waves to him and then to Anika. Not wanting to expose her pale skin, Anika lowers her head and pretends to be shy, though inside, she longs to greet the kind woman and thank her personally. When Sonehso:wa reaches her and takes the reins to lead the horse again, Anika risks turning her head to look at the cabin again. The woman is still standing in the doorway, one hand pressed to her chest, watching them.

"What did you say to her?" Anika asks.

"I told her we were on a long journey to the north to meet with another tribe. She thinks you are my wife and that you are afraid of white people." For the first time in almost a full day, Anika laughs.

They ride past sunset, deciding it best to just press on to Albany instead of stopping to camp or eat. Sonehso:wa's decision to enter the city under cover of darkness would necessitate the wasting of an entire day if they were to stop almost within sight of it. No longer able to stay among trees, they cross snow covered fields in a direct path toward Albany. There are lights in the distance as well as the silvery, moonlit strip of the large river that has allowed it to become a bustling port city. Their path eventually brings them closer to the roads and the few people still travelling on them as the hours grow late. Anika rubs her sore shoulder. It has remained stiffened up and achy since the evening before. The skin and muscles feel swollen and bruised.

At last they reach a river crossing. A few people waiting for the ferry barely glance their way and Sonehso:wa pays the fee for them both and the horse without any protest from the tired looking ferry driver. One man tries to look under the shawl concealing Anika's face and Sonehso:wa steps between them defensively. He speaks over his shoulder to Anika in his language sharply and though she does not know what he says, she turns her head away slightly to hide her face, drawing the blanket up to her chin.

Sonehso:wa winds through the emptying streets to the house where Isaac and Bethany live. At their fenced back yard, he opens the gate to let the horse in. He gestures silently to Anika to stay on the horse and wait before rounding the corner of the house to knock on the door. At first he hears nothing but after a second, louder knock, footsteps come from inside. A curtain is pulled aside upstairs and Sonehso:wa sees the shape of Bethany's head looking down at him. Isaac opens the door a crack and then pulls it wide when he recognizes his visitor. He is dressed in night clothes.

"You're back! What brings you so late, son?"

"I need to stay here again."

"Of course! I told you you were always welcome here."

"I have another with me. A woman in danger who must not be recognized."

"Hmm. Well, bring her in then. That explains the lateness, I suppose." He waits as Sonehso:wa disappears around the side of the house. Anika sits hunched on the horse but she looks up when she sees him. He reaches up to her and she painfully dismounts from the horse, wincing when her feet land on the ground and the impact jostles her shoulder. Sonehso:wa unties his bag and bedroll and removes the bridle from the horse. He loosens the straps holding the blanket but leaves it on the horse.

Anika follows him around to the front of the house and squints in the light from the lantern Isaac is now holding. Isaac reaches out a hand to help her up the stairs and Sonehso:wa checks to see if anyone is paying attention before entering the house and closing the door after them all. Bethany is coming down the stairs.

"And who is this all wrapped up?" she asks.  Anika pushes her shawl back and both Bethany and Isaac stare at her in shock. Anika's brow furrows in confusion and she glances at Sonehso:wa for an explanation. He shakes his head, not understanding either. Isaac recovers first.

"I'm sorry to stare, my dear, but you could be the sister of our deceased daughter."

"Oh… I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Sir. Madam." Anika lowers her head and makes a small curtsy to them. Bethany approaches her and touches her scratched cheek, her compassionate expression filling Anika's heart with warmth and gladness.

"Yes, it was a bit of shock to see your face. You're the very vision of our Sarah, though now I can see that you have different features. And you're not even a bit English. But how rude of us! You must be cold and hungry! Let me take your things so you can go warm up by the fire." Anika shrugs off the blanket and shawl with Bethany's help. Bethany sucks in her breath at the sight of her damaged dress and the way Anika is holding her left arm against her body.

"What happened?" She glances over at Sonehso:wa accusingly. Anika sees her and quickly speaks up in his defense.

"Madam, I was accosted by two bandits in the woods yesterday. If not for Sonehso:wa, I'd be dead. He stopped them before they could harm me... more." Bethany gasps and flutters her hands.

"Come then, child, I'll get you fixed up." She leads Anika away into another room and shuts the door behind them. Isaac raises his eyebrow at Sonehso:wa and then walks into the kitchen, waving his hand for him to follow.

"I suppose I can get us something to eat. Bethany can't stand an injured creature. She'll make sure the girl is well taken care of. What's her story?"

"It may be safer for you not to know."

"Son, Connor trusts me for a reason. We're not mere business acquaintances. I'm well aware of who he is and what he does." Sonehso:wa silently wishes he knew the same.

"Very well. This woman, Anika, is running from men who wish her harm. Her companion is currently under Connor's protection and we travel to join them."

"Interesting. I had wondered why Connor sent someone in his name. It's not like him. How long will you stay here?"

"Not long. I want to get her to safety as quickly as possible. But Anika could probably use a rest after what happened yesterday."

"What did happen?"

"I had left her side to hunt and while I was gone two men attacked her. They were attempting to rape her when I found them. I shot one but the second one dislocated her shoulder before I could get him off of her. He died by my blade," he gestures with his injured hand carelessly.  "Her shoulder went back in place easily but not without a great deal of pain for her. She could move it at first but since yesterday afternoon she has been very uncomfortable." Isaac nods his head.

"I'm happy to hear that you prevented further injury to her. She's in good hands with us. You may stay as long as you need to." He turns to rummage in the pantry, producing some bread and cold meat. Bethany emerges from the living room through a second door attached to the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. In the kitchen she pats Sonehso:wa on the arm, frowning momentarily at his lacerated knuckles.

"I must apologize for the look I gave you, dear. It's not every day you see a woman in such a state." She turns to her husband.

"Would you be a dear and fill the big pot with water and set it by the fire to heat? I would help Anika get cleaned up. I think some of Sarah's old clothes will fit her until we can fix her dress. She may as well use them." Bethany takes a plate and places some of the bread and meat on it for Anika. She fills a mug with cider and disappears into the living room again. Isaac shrugs his shoulders and retrieves a large pot from the pantry and carries it to the fireplace. He adds several logs to the fire and Sonehso:wa helps him fill the pot with buckets of water from the small well out behind the house, filling the trough for the horse while he is outside.

The men are fairly quiet while the water heats. Sonehso:wa is worn out from lack of sleep the night before and the long day of travel. He eats the food Isaac gives him and they both have a mug of cider. In the other room, sounds of the women conversing filter through the closed door but they are muffled and he cannot make out what they are talking about. Anika's laugh comes from the closed door and he relaxes, feeling the effects of the fermented cider adding to his exhaustion. Isaac tests the water and knocks on the door to the living room. Bethany comes out and goes to the pantry to find a smaller pot to fill. Inside, Anika is sitting in a chair by the fire, Sonehso:wa's striped blanket wrapped around her. He walks to the door of the room and leans against the frame. Anika smiles at him and lifts her hand out from under the blanket to crook a finger at him. Smiling, he goes to her and crouches down next to her chair on her left. Her dress is draped over the back of the chair and Anika's small, bare feet are tucked underneath. Sonehso:wa is quietly amused that even that descriptor provided by Catherine is accurate.

"Mrs. Young is very kind.  Thank you for taking me here," she says.

"They are good people. How is your shoulder?" Anika lets the blanket slip onto her arm, revealing her sleeveless shift and purple and blue discolorations on her skin. Sonehso:wa sighs at the sight of it.

"Is it very painful?" he asks.  Anika smiles ruefully at his concern.

"Somewhat. But it'll heal, thanks to you." She pulls the blanket back up and reaches her right hand to the side of Sonehso:wa's face. He covers her hand with his and turns his head to kiss her fingers.

From the kitchen, Isaac and Bethany watch Anika and Sonehso:wa. Bethany is clasping her hands to her chest and Isaac puts his arm around his wife. They share a smile, remembering their own history together. Bethany leaves the kitchen to get clothes for Anika and Isaac clears his throat before entering the room with the pot. Sonehso:wa stands up and takes the pot from Isaac, placing it near the fireplace. Isaac looks down at Anika.

"We've not been properly introduced. I'm Isaac Young. You are very welcome here, Anika. I've told Sonehso:wa that you can both stay as long as you need to, though I understand you have someplace you would like to be urgently."

"Thank you, Mr. Young. I appreciate your and your wife's hospitality under such unexpected circumstances and late hour. You're very generous." Anika reassures Isaac.  Sonehso:wa returns to Anika's side and rests his hand on the back of the chair.  Isaac smiles at him and answers her compliment.

"Nonsense, young lady. We're happy to have you both. Is there anything I can get you that you need?"

"Not at the moment, thank you," she says.  Bethany returns with some folded clothes and towels.  She enters the room without pause.

"Alright, you men get on out now and give the girl some privacy." She hands a towel and a cloth to Sonehso:wa, along with a bar of soap and a set of clothes.  "These are for you.  Isaac will show you where you can sleep." Anika looks up at Sonehso:wa and he smiles at her before leaving. Bethany bustles her husband out right behind him and shuts the door.

"My, you have yourself quite an unconventional catch!" Bethany winks knowingly at Anika and she blushes and looks down at her lap.

"To be honest, I only recently feel this way and it rather took me by surprise, Mrs. Young."

"Well, I can't say your future together will always be easy, with the way his kind is viewed, but love is love and there's no use denying it once it arrives." Bethany places the clothes and towel for Anika down near the fire to stay warm. Anika hesitates to use the word 'love' but refrains from correcting the woman.  "Let's see about getting you cleaned up then?"

"That will be wonderful." Anika sighs.  Bethany helps Anika painfully get out of her corset and shift, tsking at her scratches and bruises and the cut on her breast. By the time Anika is bathed and dressed in one of Sarah's shifts, smelling of the rose petal soap Bethany had provided, she is exhausted. It is well past midnight when Bethany has Anika settled with blankets and pillows on the couch. She leaves, shutting the door behind her and Anika closes her eyes and sighs deeply. She finally feels clean, her hair still damp from her bath. The couch is reasonably comfortable and Anika pulls Sonehso:wa's striped blanket off the floor and spreads it on top of the other blankets. Her shoulder is aching from moving it so much while bathing and changing and she is grateful to keep it motionless in one place. Anika thinks about where Sonehso:wa must be, so close in the same house but seeming so far away. She misses his warm presence now despite her original aversion to his arms around her only days ago when they first started out. How things have changed! She wishes she could hear his steady heartbeat under her cheek. Closing her eyes, she breathes deeply, pulling his blanket up over her face. His scent is almost discernible but it is not enough to comfort her as she drifts off.

_Sammy takes the bridle of her horse as John pulls her off. Once again, her arms are yanked up behind her, Sammy's fetid breath filling her nose and making her gag. This time, he cuts her dress open, tearing through with his knife and slashing roughly at the laces of her corset, gouging her skin with the knife. Her shoulder aches as she struggles and screams silently, unable to call out to Sonehso:wa, who she knows is only a short distance away. Sammy reaches for her, his black teeth showing as he grins at his prize. Anika struggles again, fighting to scream, her shoulder burning in pain as the man roughly pulls her clothes aside, exposing her breasts. She turns her head away and Sonehso:wa is lying face down in the snow, covered in blood with the knife he keeps sheathed on his chest buried to the hilt in his back. Anika finally manages to scream, knowing her fate is sealed and no one will help her now._

Sonehso:wa listens to Anika's distress through the door of her room, his hand on the handle. He had been lying sleeplessly despite his fatigue when he started to hear her and had risen and walked to the closed door of the living room. Her noises are typical of a nightmare and he wants to wake her from her torment. A creak on the stairs makes him turn to look behind him and Mrs. Young approaches, holding her shawl around her shoulders.

"What are you doing? I heard noises." She whispers.

"Anika is dreaming. I wish to awaken her." Bethany furrows her brow and looks sternly up at Sonehso:wa. He is not wearing a shirt, only the soft fabric pants she had given him earlier in the evening. His earrings, necklace and bracelets still adorn him, appearing bright in the moonlight against his dark skin. She cannot make out his facial expression but she knows he cares deeply for the young woman. Anika cries out loudly and Sonehso:wa faces the door and turns the handle.

"I must go to her," he says softly so Bethany sighs with resignation and does not protest the inappropriateness of him entering the sleeping place of her guest. After all, they had spent several days with only each other for company and she knows they must have shared the one sleeping roll and blanket. She would be fool to think that they were not in each other's arms before now. Inside the living room, Sonehso:wa kneels by Anika's side next to the couch and places his hand on her. Bethany sighs in disapproval, watching them silently from the darkness of the hall for some time before leaving them alone.

In the bedroom, Sonehso:wa kneels by Anika, watching as she twitches on the couch, her left shoulder trapped against the cushion and under his blanket. The blanket is under her shoulder and looped over her left arm but then tucked under the weight of her body. She has pushed it down from her right side and her right arm is gripping the blanket near her left elbow. She cries out again and he strokes her face lightly, whispering to her in Ogwehoweh to wake her. Her eyes open wide as she startles awake, wincing in pain.

"Jitkwa:'e, it was just a dream. You are safe."

"Sonehso:wa! They killed you and I had no one to help me." She takes his elbow with her right hand and tries to reach for him with her left arm but the pain and blanket stop her. Sonehso:wa tugs the blanket out from under her side, freeing her left arm.

"Who killed me?"

"Those men from yesterday. It was so real! The blood… your own knife in your back!" His eyes narrow for a brief moment at her description, but then he smoothes his face of worry. Sonehso:wa extricates Anika from where she is pinned against the couch cushion by sliding his left hand behind her neck and easing her toward him slightly with his right hand on her left side. She smells strongly of wild roses.

"Do not think of it. It cannot happen." he assures her. Anika sits up on the couch and pulls the blanket up as she shivers. Sonehso:wa sits down on her left. The small amount of moonlight shining into the room highlights the muscles on Sonehso:wa's torso and shoulders as he reaches for her, taking her in his arms. She leans against him and he caresses her hair. Defying the pain, she raises her left arm and places her palm on his stomach, feeling his warm, bare skin against her hand and cheek. Anika closes her eyes and turns her face in to his chest, breathing deeply of his clean, warm, earthy scent that she could not get from the blanket. He breathes slowly and Anika reaches high with her right arm and runs her hand down his back, stopping where the knife had been in her dream. She moves his hair aside with her fingers and presses her palm to his back, assuring herself that his skin is smooth and unbroken, warm with life and breath. Sonehso:wa touches the fingertips of his right hand to her cheek, kisses her head and then cups her face in his palm. Anika has never felt so cared for in this way by anyone.

"You should sleep if you can, Jitkwa:'e. We have much to do tomorrow." Anika tilts her face up to him and he lightly grazes his thumb over her bottom lip. She cannot bear the thought of him getting up and leaving her now.

"Stay with me?"  she asks.  Sonehso:wa continues to cup her upturned face. She asks him to do the very thing he wishes for as if he might refuse her. He slides his fingers into her hair, sweeping it off of her face and tilting her head farther back as he lowers his face to hers to kiss her slowly in answer. Her mouth is soft as their lips touch. Sonehso:wa brushes his lips lightly over hers and then presses against them, pushing his bottom lip between hers. She opens her mouth to him and he flicks his tongue just inside as he kisses her, making her clutch at his back. Taking her bottom lip in his mouth, he holds it enough to let it slide from his lips only when he draws back slowly. He lingers near her lips, considering kissing her further but as night is passing by quickly and knowing he hadn't heard any retreating footsteps of Mrs. Young, he refrains. Kissing her has strengthened his desire for her so much he has to fight to lean away from her face. He returns his hand to her face and sits straighter, bringing her head to his chest, knowing she will hear how fast his heart is beating. Anika sighs and trails her fingers through the bottom half of his hair until he moves his hand to the corner of her neck and shoulder, lightly pressing his fingers against her, causing her to lean back from him and rest her hand on his arm.

"We should sleep," he says softly. Anika nods and curls her fingers against his bicep. He lies against Anika's pillow and she stands up so he can bring his left leg up onto the couch. Too tall to fit, he bends his knee and slides down until his head is resting on the pillow. Raising his left arm, he motions to Anika to come to him and she sits between his legs and tucks the end of the blanket over Sonehso:wa's leg. He takes her lightly in his arms as she leans over him, her position giving him an entrancing view of her generous cleavage, the fullness of her breasts free of her constricting corset and the dark line of her cut visible against her pale skin. She lowers herself down on his stomach, curling her legs up and tucking her right arm down beside Sonehso:wa with her hand under his shoulder. She rests her cheek on his chest and carefully puts her left arm over his stomach and her hand on his side. He pulls the blanket up and lifts his right leg over her bent legs, tucking his calf into the bend of her knees. They both settle themselves comfortably and Sonehso:wa drapes his left arm over Anika's back. He reaches up and strokes her face with his right hand, tucking her silky hair behind her ear and tracing her jaw with a finger.

Anika closes her eyes and is overcome by her emotions. _How can I feel this way about a man I met only days ago?_ She wants nothing more than to be with him forever. She doesn't care if no one accepts their relationship, as long as they are together. Nothing feels as right as when his arms are around her. Sonehso:wa continues to lightly trace her jaw with his fingers and she sighs in contentment, hugging him as much as she can without hurting her shoulder excessively. In return, he tightens his arm across her back and bends slightly to kiss the top of her head, the muscles in his abdomen bunching under her arm as he does. With the lightest touch, he moves his hand from her face to her upper arm and then to her elbow. He shifts his body slightly under her, breathing deeply and Anika wants this moment to last forever- each sensation, every heartbeat, the smell of his skin and the warmth of their bodies together.


	14. Return

Return

Sonehso:wa wakes to the sound of someone walking across the creaking floor of the house. Sunlight is streaming into the living room where he and Anika lie on the couch. He is surprised he slept so well, considering he is once again inside one of these thick-walled structures. Maybe it is the presence of the lovely, golden haired creature asleep on top of him that kept him so distracted from his usual concerns. His right foot is cold where it rests on the floor and Anika has shifted over so that her head lies on the side of his chest, almost dangling. Her hair spills from her head, some partially over his arm on her back, the rest in a magnificent halo that pools on his chest and flows off the side of the couch, split by her left arm where it hangs almost straight down towards the floor. Bruises surround the delicate bones at the upper, outer edge of her shoulder and travel in a wide stripe part way down the front of her arm in a jarring combination of dusky blues and purples, fading to brown and yellow on the edges. Her right hand is still between his side and the back of the couch. Sonehso:wa's left leg is numb from Anika's weight resting on his hip and his upper body is chilled where she is not in contact with him.

The footsteps seem to be coming from where he had originally been set up in the sitting room before he heard Anika dreaming in the night. They come toward the living room and Sonehso:wa turns his head toward the open door, his heart rate increasing. All his weapons are where he left them in the other room and he would have to push Anika off of him to defend them in any way. Isaac appears in the doorway and Sonehso:wa exhales in relief. The men regard each other and Isaac lowers Sonehso:wa's bedroll onto the floor near the fireplace. Inside the roll, he can see his weapons and bag. Isaac stokes the fire and eyes Sonehso:wa and Anika on the couch again with a mixture of amusement and sternness before shutting the door behind him with a click. Sonehso:wa raises his right hand and runs his fingers through his hair on the side of his head, willing his heart to slow down. Recalling the time he spent time with Isaac in this city, he wonders what the man is thinking, having witnessed him kiss his niece and now here he is with a lookalike of his daughter sprawled across him, both of them in a state of partial undress. Sonehso:wa pulls together his usual self confidence and reminds himself that Anika is not Isaac's daughter and he had no intentions of coming back to dally with Christie to begin with.

Anika stirs and bends her dangling left elbow up with a gasping wince. Sonehso:wa lowers his hand to her arm and helps her bring it up onto his chest as she sits back. He slides his hand down to hers and lightly strokes her fingers, stealing glances at her breasts from time to time. Her cotton shift, though opaque, is made of thin material and he can just make out the shape of her nipples through the fabric.

"How did you sleep?" she asks him.

"Well enough. I do not like being inside these kinds of places." He runs his fingers up and down her back and changes the subject.  "I cannot feel my leg anymore." He grins and presses his hand against the small of her back and hip when she tries to move off of him.  "I do not mind. Only because it is you." he laughs.

Anika smiles shyly and lowers her eyes to his chest. Skin the color of earthen pottery, smooth and unblemished, invites her to touch it as she pulls her right hand out from the side of the couch. With just her fingertips she makes contact with his left shoulder, following a slightly raised vein that runs the length of his upper arm under his skin. The skin on the underside of his arm is softer than she is expecting and she enjoys the feel of it as she brings her fingers back up to his shoulder. Hesitantly, she slides her hand diagonally down to his sternum, pushing a section of his hair along with her thumb. Stealing a glance up at Sonehso:wa's face, she finds him watching her intently, his lips bearing the faintest hint of a smile and his shadowed eyes meeting hers expectantly as if to say, "Why did you stop?" She slides her fingers to the side of his neck and takes the section of his hair she had been moving in her hand. When she turns her hand palm up, the black, shiny strands slip between her fingers and she runs them through the length of it, letting it fall across the pillow and beside his arm. Sonehso:wa breathes in deeply as she places her palm on his chest just above his dark nipple. His eyes close for a moment and his head relaxes back into the pillow, making the muscles in his neck stand out in a 'V' shape on either side of his throat. They meet at the pronounced dip between his curving collarbones and are crossed by his white, fitted necklace.

"Thank you," she whispers, looking up at him from below her eyelashes. Sonehso:wa lifts his head and opens his eyes, looking inquiringly at her.

"For what?" he asks.  Anika lowers her face.

"For stopping those men and fixing my arm. For staying with me last night and…" A blush creeps over her face, flushing her neck and chest and Sonehso:wa understands her perfectly, amused by her shy embarrassment.

"Always, Jitkwa:'e." He moves his hand from her hip to the back of the couch and pulls himself up to a sitting position before taking her in his arms. A burst of prickling discomfort shoots down his leg at the movement and he curls his toes and flexes his foot in an effort to reduce the sensation and get blood back to his extremity. Anika rests her forehead against his neck but sighs as the sounds of the Young family moving about fill the house. Sonehso:wa kisses her head just behind her ear.

"It is better that we get up now. If I kiss you again I would not want to stop for a very long time. I do not think Mr. and Mrs. Young would like that." he whispers, his lips grazing the edge of her ear. Anika gasps, excitedly scandalized at his tantalizing innuendo and pulls back to look at his face. His smirk is heavily suggestive and he laughs quietly in his throat at her narrow-eyed expression. She cannot help smiling back. The prospect of spending an extended period of time being intimate with him floods her body with the now familiar tingling warmth of desire. He reaches up to her face and traces a finger down her cheek and neck, across her collar bone to her shoulder and then down along the neckline of her shift, his fingertip just under the lacy edge of the fabric. When he crosses over the front of her breast, he slows down and Anika closes her eyes, willing him to stop and place his hand fully on her. When he moves on and takes his hand away she is left feeling wildly bereft. She sighs in disappointment.

"Later, Jitkwa:'e, when we have no one waiting for us." He brushes his lips over hers and slides himself backwards on the couch, pulling his leg out from behind her. The loose linen pants he is wearing do nothing to hide his arousal yet he shamelessly stands, walks to his mat and crouches down to unroll it and gather his usual clothing. His bare back and broad shoulders are lean and muscular, his hair only partly hiding the deep valley of his spine, flanked by two long muscles that end in points just above his pants. Only when he approaches the door to the room and opens it does he lower his bundle of clothing to cover himself, leaving Anika alone to get dressed for the day. Once he has left, Anika raises her right hand to her chest and clasps the neckline of her shift, pressing her wrist hard against her breast. She leans against the couch and tips her head back, squeezing her thighs together in an unsuccessful attempt to control the warm urgency between her legs.

The dress Bethany had provided her, like the cotton shift she is wearing, is one of the remaining items she has of her daughter's. Unlike the comfortable shift, it is too tight. Anika is unable to close the buttons over her bust. With a sigh, she unbuttons it and pulls her arms out, letting the dress hang from her hips. She reaches behind her back, unties the upper lacing of her corset and takes a deep breath. When she lets it out, she holds it, tugging on the lacing and tightening it as much as her body and her injured shoulder will allow. By the time she has tied it again, she feels faint from holding her breath and her shoulder is burning. It takes a considerable amount of time for her to catch her breath with her lungs so restricted. When she tucks the laces away and tries the dress on again the buttons close up easily, without even a hint of strain, much to her relief. Looking down at herself, Anika smoothes her hands over the material, admiring the fine lace edging on the sleeves and the crisp, slightly shiny quality of the dark, emerald green fabric. A subtle striping in the weave gives a flattering dimension to the dress. It is well made and though it is just a tiny bit too long for her, Anika finds it lovely. The delicate scent of dried flowers rises to her nose from the fabric. She wishes she could have known the woman who wore it last. She says a silent prayer for the soul of the dead woman.

Without a mirror, it is difficult for Anika to be sure if her hairstyle is satisfactory but she has styled it this way so often that her fingers know each section of plait and where it needs to be pinned. She runs her fingers over the part down the middle of her head and the coiled mass of braids pinned at the nape of her neck. It will have to do. With her left hand, she picks up a section of her skirts and pads barefoot over to the door. Opening it brings the sounds of morning to her ears; Bethany in the kitchen cooking, the slam of the back door and Isaac stomping his feet as he comes inside from doing household chores, the shriek of a child… That is unexpected. A red-faced boy of about three or four is running toward her, his arms outstretched and a continuous shrill wail coming from him. He crashes into her legs as she walks down the hall and tries to climb her body, crying. Anika is stunned for a moment but then she bends down and the child throws his arms around her neck.

"Mama! Mama!" he screams into her chest. The sound of something clattering onto the floor comes from the kitchen and in Anika's peripheral vision, she catches sight of Bethany leaning her back against the counter, both of her hands covering her mouth. She is weeping and Isaac's face looks haggard as he slowly approaches them. Sonehso:wa comes into sight from another room and stops short, observing the scene in shocked silence. Anika meets his eyes across the distance and is confused until she remembers that the woman whose dress she is wearing was the Young's daughter. _This must be… their grandson. Oh, what cruelty it must be for this child to see me in his mother's dress!_ Isaac kneels by her side and gently tries to extricate the boy from Anika.

"Ethan, come to Pappy, come to Pappy." The boy takes in an enormous, shuddering breath.

"Nooooooo!" The scream is guttural in its ferocity, seeming to come from deep in his belly, and it goes on forever as he clings to her, his nails digging into the skin of her neck. It tapers off into gasping sobs and hiccups.

"It's alright, Mr. Young. Let him stay." She gathers the child up, supporting his weight under his buttocks with her right arm and placing her left hand on his shoulders. Isaac helps her get to her feet. The boy wraps his legs around her waist and shoves his face firmly into the corner of Anika's neck and right shoulder, his wet cheeks dampening her skin. His little body shakes as he tries to breathe and Isaac puts his hand on the boy's back, looking at Anika.

"He hasn't spoken a word, not a peep, since his parents died about a year ago. He cried for them for a while and one day, he just stopped." He passes a hand over his face, pulling on the end of his beard and looking toward his wife. She is wiping tears away with her apron and trying to regain control of herself. Turning back to Anika, he continues.

"We should have anticipated this last night. We should have tried to tell him… something. I don't know what, though. God. He thinks you're Sarah. What are we going to do?" He faces Bethany as she finally finds her composure and joins them in the hallway. Sonehso:wa seems to materialize by Anika's side. He must have tiptoed over, he was so quiet. He moves slightly behind Anika and Ethan raises his head from her shoulder to look at him.

Sonehso:wa gazes into the boy's large, brown eyes and once again is struck by the old soul looking back at him. Ethan extends his tightly closed fist from the back of Anika's neck, holding it out as he continues to pant and hiccup in her arms. Sonehso:wa brings his hand up to hold his fist but Ethan opens his fingers and the white bead drops into his palm. Sonehso:wa feels sick as he shakes his head and tries to give it back but the boy returns his hand to Anika, tucking his elbow down against her chest and burying his face in her neck again. When Sonehso:wa raises his head up from Ethan, both Isaac and Bethany are looking at him, their faces even more distraught than before. Raising the bead gravely in his hand, he is unsure what to do with it. He can't take it back. The reason he gave it to the boy still stands, even if Ethan thinks his mother has come back to him from the dead. This bead has sacred meaning now and it is anathema to repurpose such a thing. To his relief, Bethany holds her hand out for it and he gives it carefully to her. She closes her fingers around it and nods her head at him before tucking it into a pocket of her dress.

Isaac breaks the silence.

"I wish I did not have to go, but I must open the store. It is already late." He sighs and stares at his grandson. His wife rubs his arm.

"Go, then, Mr. Young. We'll manage." She makes an effort to smile and he tries to say something but ends up just opening and closing his mouth. He touches Anika's unburdened shoulder lightly and gives her a weak smile and a small nod. To Sonehso:wa, he nods more firmly. Taking his overcoat, he stops at the door and turns back, hesitating. Bethany's forehead creases and she shakes her head. Nodding once again, as if he has made up his mind with determination, he opens the door, exits and shuts it without looking back. In the silence of the house, only the sounds of his receding footsteps and the snuffly breathing of the child can be heard. Anika shifts her feet and adjusts Ethan in her arms. His grasp tightens briefly around her neck.

"If I could... sit down somewhere…" she says. Bethany seems to come awake.

"Yes, of course. Come into the dining room. I'll make some tea. Are you hungry?" She moves her attention between her two guests.

"A little. Thank you, Mrs. Young." Anika is not hungry at all but for the sake of giving the flustered woman something to do, she acquiesces. Sonehso:wa pulls out a chair for Anika and she lowers herself carefully into it, making sure not to sit on either of Ethan's little bare feet. They dangle from her hips and he slumps against her with a sigh, his back arched and his bottom sticking out. After his stressful experience, he seems to have exhausted himself. Sonehso:wa pulls a chair over from the end of the table and joins Anika, sitting with his knees facing her left side. He rests his left arm on the table and leans on it, watching Anika as she holds the boy in her lap and softly sings a lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she was small. She strokes Ethan's light brown, childish curls where they hang past his shoulders, the tie that had been holding them neatly now off to the side and snarled in a section of his hair. Anika works it free and places it on the table. She stops singing and looks at Sonehso:wa.

"What did you give to Mrs. Young?" she whispers.

"A bead. I gave it to Ethan when I was here before. It was to remember his parents." He shakes his head.  "He gave it back to me. I cannot take it. It is for Sarah and Matthew's spirits." Anika nods even though she does not understand his beliefs. She appreciates religious tradition and is a little fascinated by Sonehso:wa's foreign convictions. She tries to rationalize.

"Maybe… with time… I don't know. This is a tricky situation." Ethan heaves a sigh in his sleep, his arms slipping from Anika's neck and hanging from his shoulders. He turns his head on her breasts and then is still. Anika softly touches the pink, wrinkled skin of his scarred hand and resumes the soothing lullaby. Bethany emerges from the kitchen with a pot of tea and some mugs. She puts them on the table and then lowers herself to look at her sleeping grandson. He breathes deeply through his slightly opened mouth and Bethany strokes his flushed, sweaty cheek lightly with her finger.

"My little angel. Who could imagine a baby could contain such pain for so long?" She looks up at Anika.  "Bless you, my dear. Even though we have to tell him, at least he could have one last pleasant memory of his mother. God knows tis a mercy. A ship was taking passengers and cargo to New York and both Sarah and her husband Matthew were on it with Ethan to go visit some of Matthew's family in the city. Some kegs of powder caught fire somehow and exploded. Sarah and Matthew were both killed by the explosion but Ethan was thrown from Sarah's arms. A man saw it happen, took Ethan and jumped into the water with him before the entire ship caught fire. When we heard about it, we thought there was no hope but when we reached the farm where a makeshift hospital had been set up, there he was with his arm all wrapped up and a bandage on his head. I had hoped he would be too young to remember them..." Bethany's voice cracks and Anika does not know what else to do but put her arm around the woman's back.

Sonehso:wa meets Anika's eyes over Bethany's head. She is distressed by the story of Ethan's parents' deaths so he does his best to lend her his strength until Bethany wipes her eyes and stands. Pausing to touch her grandson's cheek again, she heaves a sigh and then looks at Anika.

"Bless you," she whispers again. Turning to Sonehso:wa, she smiles and briefly places her palm against his upturned face before leaving the room. Motherly affection pours in an unbridled torrent from the woman, sweeping up everyone in her presence. Sonehso:wa couldn't help feeling like a small boy again for a moment when she had touched him. When he resumes watching Anika she gives him a small smile, her verdant eyes turned up at him briefly from beneath her light eyebrows before she kisses the head of the boy on her breast, her hands couching his sleeping form. It is a compelling scene and something lurches in Sonehso:wa, taking him by surprise. _What if Anika were to bear a child of my spirit?_  Sonehso:wa shakes himself from his idle thoughts. They are far from making that kind of commitment to each other. Smiling inwardly, he thinks of the reaction of the tribe to his choice. After all his prejudice from his childhood, would anyone truly believe he would take a white woman as a wife? He would face endless ridicule from his few close friends. But once they met her they would understand why.

Anika watches Sonehso:wa from the corners of her eyes. He is slouched forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his thighs with his hands between his knees. He appears deep in thought, idly spinning his bracelets over and over with his long fingers. The carved wooden pieces of jewelry make a quiet clicking sound as they move. A tiny quirk at the corners of his mouth hints at something amusing crossing his mind. Most of his hair hangs down on the left side of his body, subtly moving with the shifting of his arms as he continues to spin his bracelets. The long, black expanse of his hair is impressive, its shining length rivaling that of a woman's yet enhancing his masculinity. It appears he had taken time that morning while she was dressing to redo his braid. It is tight and neat, without any stray hairs escaping. Even his decorative feathers have been carefully groomed. Anika has a strong desire to reach for his hair and feel its luxuriant softness in her fingers again.  Bethany returns to the table with some warm scones in a basket, blackberry preserves and maple syrup, trumping any possibility to reach over. To her surprise, Anika's stomach rumbles and she finds herself hungrier now that the urgency of the situation has faded. Sonehso:wa gets up and gives his chair to Bethany so she can be near the child, moving to the seat across the table from Anika.

Ethan stirs while they are eating, rubbing his face against Anika's chest and squirming into a sitting position facing her. Sonehso:wa watches as Bethany stiffens, her uncertainty of how to handle the situation affecting her greatly. Anika surprises them both when she addresses Ethan, deliberately increasing her accent until it is even stronger than the Zenger's and making her words almost unrecognizable as English.

"Ah, the little boy has woken."

"Mama?" Ethan looks up at her, confused. Anika smiles and shakes her head.

"No. I'm not your Mutti. I only look like her." Ethan squints hard at Anika, breathing rapidly; he appears close to crying. He looks down at Anika's hands on his legs and stares at the lace edging her wrists. Plucking at it with his fingers, he wrinkles his forehead in concentration and then turns to his grandmother.

"Where is Mama?" his high pitched, childish voice is frustrated. Bethany sighs and reaches to his arm.

"She died, Ethan. So did Papa. Mama and Papa are not coming home. Do you remember when Nana and Pappy told you that a long time ago?" Ethan nods his head, looking gravely up at Anika and studying her face. Bethany speaks on Anika's behalf.  "The nice lady who only looks like Mama is named Anika. She is from Germany. That is a country very far from here and very far from England. She's a friend of Sonehso:wa's. Do you remember him?" Bethany gestures across the table and Ethan twists to look at him, wobbling slightly in Anika's lap. He nods with a seriousness beyond his years.

"He gave me a shell."

"Yes," Bethany nods, reaching into her pocket and producing it. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she offers it to him and looks at Sonehso:wa. He leans forward over the table, resting his arms on it, and speaks in a gentle voice to the boy.

"That shell is sacred… holy?" He looks at Bethany for a sign that he used the unfamiliar word correctly.  She nods her head and he carries on.  "You must keep it, Ethan. It holds the spirit memory of your parents now." He encourages the boy and stretches his right hand toward Bethany's, tapping the bead with his finger to indicate that he should take it. Ethan stretches his scarred hand out and picks up the bead, closing his fist tightly around it and bringing it to his chest. Taking one last look up at Anika, as if to be absolutely certain she is not his mother, he climbs off her lap and onto Bethany's.

"Oh, my sweet baby! I love you so much." Bethany croons, holding the boy close and kissing his head repeatedly. Anika, Sonehso:wa and Bethany all share silent looks of relief that the conversation did not end up in horrible tears and trauma.

"Love you, Nana," Ethan mumbles into Bethany's bosom, and Anika struggles not to cry at the touching scene. Bethany is not so successful and allows herself the luxury of weeping for the return of her grandson's voice after so long. Anika quietly stands and Sonehso:wa joins her when she moves to the living room to give Bethany some time. She gathers the items Bethany had provided for her to repair her dress and takes a seat on the couch to work. Sitting side by side, they are silent as Anika sews, listening to the quiet conversation Bethany is having with Ethan. Sonehso:wa lounges back on the couch, watching her work and rattling the buttons Anika has removed in his cupped hand. When she has replaced all her jet buttons with the small silver ones she was given, including the ones still on the dress for the sake of uniformity, she returns the needle and thread to the sewing box. Tapping one of the small built in compartments on the inside edge, she looks at Sonehso:wa and he pours the small black buttons from his hand into it. On the bottom, a spool of black ribbon catches her eye. Measuring a length of it along her forearm, she lifts the ornate pair of antique chatelaine scissors she had been using and cuts it. She looks up at Sonehso:wa.

"For Ethan's bead. He can wear it around his neck so he'll never lose it." Sonehso:wa raises his eyebrows and sits forward at her suggestion.

"Should we give it to him now?" he asks. Anika pauses and listens. Bethany is laughing so Anika nods and stands with a rustle of starched skirts, setting her woolen dress aside. Back in the dining room, Ethan is sitting in the chair Anika had vacated. He looks up at them when they enter. Bethany smiles and Anika bends down in front of the boy. She speaks with her normal accent, not wanting to deceive the child any longer.

"I brought you something." She holds up the length of ribbon and glances at Bethany in a silent plea for permission. Bethany smiles, giving her approval.

"This is for your bead, so you can wear it as a necklace… Like Sonehso:wa. Would you like that?" Ethan nods and opens his hand holding the bead. Anika reverently takes it and strings it onto the ribbon. She reaches up and ties it around his neck, settling the bead against his chest. He looks down at it, touches it with his hands and then gets off the chair to hug Anika.

"What do you say, Ethan?" Bethany coaches.

"Thank you, Nika."

"You're welcome, Ethan." The boy moves to Sonehso:wa, hugging his leg before he can bend down.

"Thank you, Sosowa." In the typical style of a child, he then wanders away, climbing the stairs one at a time and disappearing around a corner when he reaches the second floor. Bethany stands and takes one of their hands in each of hers.

"It's a miracle! Thank you both for being so wonderful."

"He is a brave boy. He reminds me of Raton… Connor sometimes."Sonehso:wa says.  Bethany smiles.

"If he grows up to be like Connor then we'll be happy indeed." Anika digests Bethany's words, feeling even more confident that Cat is in good hands. She respects the Young's and finds them to be good people. Their opinion of Connor is high and Anika stores it away for the times when she worries about Cat. Even now, knowing they still have days of travel before they reach her, she feels her anxiety starting to claw at her heart. She stuffs it down and tries to keep her stress from breaking free and showing itself on her face while Bethany is talking.  "Mr. Young and I were thinking that when Ethan is older, we should send him to Connor to be trained, especially if he's in New York or Boston. I would hate to see him go but Mr. Young says it would be good for the boy to have that kind of discipline starting at a young age. Now I see the wisdom in it." Sonehso:wa is nodding, looking serious but Anika has no idea what Bethany is talking about.

As Anika helps Bethany gather up the things from the table, Sonehso:wa passes through the kitchen to start packing up their things in living room. He had considered spending another night at the Young's but he is more inclined now to continue on to the cabin. They are not getting any closer staying in Albany. Anika's shoulder seems to be less stiff as long as she keeps moving it and she does not favor it as much. When he is at the door to the living room, he pauses, turning to talk with the women and resting his hands on the sides of the doorframe.

"Mrs. Young, we should get some things from Mr. Young's store today."

"That's fine, Sonehso:wa. Whatever you need." Turning to face Anika, Sonehso:wa continues.

"I think we should keep going." Anika nods and continues to dry the plate she is holding. Her trust in him appears to be absolute. He had not intended to present his opinion as the only option but rather as a way for her to express her thoughts on the matter. She should not be afraid to speak up if she wants to wait longer; she is not his to command. Rather than bring up his concerns in front of Mrs. Young, he waits for Anika to meet his eyes and then tilts his head in the direction of the living room behind him before turning and entering the room.

Sonehso:wa has organized his bedroll and weapons neatly and folded the blanket by the time Anika enters the living room. Shutting the door behind her, she approaches Sonehso:wa where he kneels on the floor by the fireplace. He stands when she comes closer and takes her arms in his hands, holding her away from him so he can look at her. Her hair is prettily braided and the way she has it styled keeps it so not even one hair escapes to cover her face. Despite the intricate work she put into it, he prefers it down and flowing around her. If it were free right now, he would take it in his fingers and fondle it. One hand drifts upwards and he touches the tightly coiled braid at the side of her neck. Her beauty has distracted him from the reason he asked her to come to him.

"Jitkwa:'e, do you want to stay here another night? I did not mean to decide for you." Anika shrugs her shoulders.

"If you think we should go, then we should go." she says agreeably.  Sonehso:wa moves his hand so his thumb is on the side of her cheek.

"That is not what I asked of you." Anika smiles at his persistence.

"I want to get to Cat. As much as I like being under a solid roof again, I miss her and I won't fully believe she's alive until I see her. Does that answer your question?" she smiles.  Sonehso:wa squints at her.

"In a way. It is very indirect. Do not be afraid to tell me what you want. I will not make you go if you want to stay another night." Anika laughs at his sudden seriousness. It is out of character and so very unlike his usual sass and sarcasm. She puts both hands on his stomach and pushes him. He staggers backwards a step, a look of surprise on his face.

"This is coming from the man who coerced me with his friends to leave New York a week ago." Sonehso:wa squares his shoulders at her jab.

"We did not coerce you! It was to protect you…" Sonehso:wa is defensive until he sees Anika struggling to contain her laughter. A squeak escapes her and she covers her mouth with both hands to hold it in. Sonehso:wa shakes his head at her, laughing heartily. Anika extends her right hand toward him and he takes it, allowing her to pull him closer. Sonehso:wa does not stop when he reaches her. Guiding her backwards with his left hand on her hip, he advances until her legs touch the couch. He then kisses her deeply, pressing her tightly to his body.  Anika moans and drops onto the couch, pulling on his shirt with both of her hands so he is leaning over her. Without stopping their kiss, Sonehso:wa places his left knee between the back of the couch and her hips and lowers her down onto the cushions, resting his forearms on either side of her. When they finally separate, Anika is out of breath, her tightly laced corset making it difficult to breathe. Panting, she tries to talk.

"Sonehso:wa… we shouldn't!  The other door is open… someone could see us!" In answer, Sonehso:wa reaches above her head and takes her dress from where it still lies over the arm of the couch, balls it up and throws it at the partially open door. It makes contact with a dull thud and swings it shut just enough for the latch to click. Bringing his right knee up, he nudges her left leg until she takes her feet off the floor and lies completely on the couch. Taking a brief glimpse down between their bodies, Sonehso:wa uses his knee to drag her skirt up before placing it on the couch between her legs. The green fabric is bunched over his leg and Anika's ankles and the inner sides of her calves are exposed. She tenses beneath him and her breathing is more rapid then ever. Her hands are clenched tightly on his shirt and she stares at his face. Suddenly she pulls on him, as if making a reckless decision, and lifts her head from the couch to meet his lips. As their kisses set fire to their desires more and more, Sonehso:wa reaches his right hand down from beside her face, running his hand over her tightly corseted body. He can feel nothing of her soft curves he had admired earlier, the only surface reaching his fingers being the rigid bone stays of her corset running in long, hard lines down her torso. Longing to feel the softness of her flesh on his fingers, he moves lower, his hand becoming lost in the endless yards of rustling fabric surrounding her legs. He works at gathering it upwards against her left leg as Anika's panting breaths turn into gasps that he muffles with his lips until finally, his hand comes into contact with the warm, smooth skin of her upper leg. Taking a moment, he reaches down and slowly traces his fingers from just above her knee up along the inner side of her thigh.

Anika feels faint from not being able to breathe fully. Every touch from Sonehso:wa is a fiery brand of pleasure on her skin and she wants it all but is afraid much more will make her pass out in corseted misery. As his fingers move higher on her thigh, the most exquisite surges of need and waves of warmth flow through her body, moving along her nerves and coalescing deep in her pelvis. She feels as if thousands of glowing, silver threads are being pulled tightly between her breasts and the throbbing heat between her legs. Sonehso:wa's fingers move incrementally higher and it is nothing other than the purest torture when he finally brushes them over the top of her pubis. He strokes her there, slowly moving his fingers through her hair and smiling against her mouth with an eager sound as he continues to kiss her.

Anika's hidden patch of hair is crinkly against Sonehso:wa's fingers and he loves the texture of it. Anticipating her reaction, Sonehso:wa shifts his body upwards slightly to kiss her deeply as he lowers his fingers until he feels the soft division of her flesh. Her body twitches and then bucks when he presses his middle finger down. His mouth stifles her cry. Keeping pressure against her center, he slides his finger lower, down into the warm wetness of her arousal and between her supple lips. Using her slippery moisture, he curls his finger and parts her folds, stroking upwards and finding her firm pearl of pleasure waiting for his touch. The moment he starts to glide his finger over it, Anika takes two handfuls of his hair and pulls his face against hers, using his kiss to contain a small scream. Circling her area of delight, he feels her body shaking and he has to work at controlling his hand so he can draw out her pleasure as long as possible.

He touches her sensitive nub directly with the lightest touch he can manage while Anika's body convulses at the contact. She throws her head back, escaping his mouth, so Sonehso:wa moves his finger quickly from direct contact and instead strokes slowly through her slick folds below, afraid she is going to cry out from too much stimulation. Anika clenches her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut. The sight of her restraint is intoxicating and Sonehso:wa wishes they were alone in the house so he could push her beyond her control and make her cry out with pleasure. The moment Anika stops arching her head back he quickly recaptures her lips, bringing his left hand to her right shoulder to keep her from inadvertently breaking away again. He touches her center again and slowly adds more pressure. Deftly working her pearl, he holds her tightly with his hand and the left side of his body on top of hers as she spasms beneath him. He slips his fingers lower again, dipping one just barely inside her.  Her wetness is slick, warm and inviting but Sonehso:wa moves back to her secret little nub, knowing it will yield completely to his touch in only a few more moments.  He manipulates it steadily until Anika bends her knees up and traps his right leg and hand between her thighs.  Her body arches and her pelvic muscles contract under his hand so Sonehso:wa uses fixed pressure against her, riding out her aftershocks until she falls limply to the couch.  Her hands tumble from his hair.  Sonehso:wa takes his hand from beneath her skirts and lifts his head to watch her flushed face. He is slightly out of breath from excitement himself and the knowledge that he will be unable to relieve his exceptionally hard erection the traditional way is rather disappointing.

In the wake of the rolling waves of the most extreme pleasure Anika had ever experienced, her body feels weak and boneless. Even on the few occasions when she had been alone in her bed and had dared explore herself, she had never brought such uncontrollable paroxysms to her body. The sensations she had experienced those other times paled significantly in comparison to what Sonehso:wa had just done to her. Still out of breath, she tries to raise her head to look at him. He is watching her with a satisfied smile on his face, his forehead slightly sweaty and his eyes a deep, sultry black. Anika only gets a glance before a searing headache forces her to drop her head onto the couch again with a gasp. The pain passes when her head is flat and comes raging back the moment she attempts to raise it again, though not quite as intense.  It seems to fade along with the remaining euphoria of her climax. She lifts her hand to her head and waits, using the time to slowly catch her breath.

The sight of Anika so spent beneath him is incredibly satisfying and Sonehso:wa wishes he could bring her to this point over and over again. He wants to expend his seed in her, feeling her pleasure from the inside. No doubt she would have enjoyed it even more if she were not ensnared in that wicked contraption she seems so fond of wearing. He is unable to see how it is comfortable, especially with how difficult it seems to make her breathing. He wonders if he can take it from her and fling it into the fire when she is not looking.

Anika and Sonehso:wa sit up and Anika leans on his shoulder, her hands folded in her lap in a deceptively calm fashion, still catching her breath slightly.

"That was… like nothing I've felt before…" She says softly.  Sonehso:wa puts his arm around her and kisses her when she looks up at him. A few stray hairs and her rumpled skirts reveal clues to their liaison but otherwise, there is no incriminating proof of it. If Bethany were to walk in, they would look as if they are having an intimate conversation.

"I am happy you enjoyed it. But that would only have been the beginning if we were alone." Anika kisses him for his sensual suggestion. Coming from any other man, it would have sounded lewd but from him, it's just a statement of fact. It would seem he is not a virgin by any stretch of the imagination. He appeared to know all too well what to do but for some reason she just doesn't care.

It is not much later, when Anika has picked up and folded her dress she had just repaired from the floor, when Bethany knocks on the door and opens it. Sonehso:wa is rolling up his blanket into the bedroll and Anika is by the fireplace shaking out her shawl.

"Anika, I was wondering if you'd want to take Ethan with you when you go to the store. Mr. Young would be tickled to hear him talk." Anika turns and faces the woman.

"Of course, Mrs. Young. It will be my pleasure," she says cheerily.  Sonehso:wa lowers his face to his task and smirks.   _I know better what is truly her pleasure_  he thinks.  

Ethan skips ahead of Anika as she walks along the road toward the Young's store, his curls neatly tied back once again and bouncing as he runs. Bethany had given Anika a close fitting white cap with pleated trim to cover her golden hair but it doesn't quite hide her coiled braids. Anika isn't worried about being recognized but had agreed that caution is a wise path to follow. Sonehso:wa had suggested she choose another name, as well. After some thought, Anika had decided on her mother's name, Hanna. Though the spelling is different, no one would know that. It sounds the same as the English spelling and that is what matters. She had even done her best performance of Cat's way of speaking, imitating her accent perfectly. Sonehso:wa had looked at her strangely, for she had sounded just like her friend. The memory of his expression makes her laugh quietly to herself as she walks. It feels good to be walking among crowds of people again. She wants to turn and look at Sonehso:wa where he follows several paces behind her but it would draw too much attention. It is better for people not to know they are together.

Anika catches up to Ethan when they reach the door to the store. He had discovered something interesting on the ground just outside it and is squatting down looking at it.

"What is it, Ethan?" Anika asks the boy and he holds up a nail from a horse shoe.

"Nail!" he states, proudly.

"What a find! Let's show it to your Pappy." Anika takes Ethan's hand and opens the door. Mr. Young looks up from his books where he stands behind the counter from a customer. He smiles at Anika and Ethan and returns to the business he was attending to. Anika leads Ethan around the shop, browsing at the goods that are for sale. She thinks on their trip and wonders what she should bring, knowing it all has to fit in Sonehso:wa's bag and not be too heavy or cumbersome. Several minutes pass, yet Sonehso:wa does not come in after them. Anika wonders what is keeping him, but assumes he is just making an effort not to be seen with her. Mr. Young's customer concludes his business and he waves Anika over with a smile. She lets go of Ethan's hand and he runs to his grandfather.

"Nail! Nail!" he shouts and Isaac scoops the child up in his arms with a jolly laugh.

"So it is, my boy, so it is. You've found your voice for good, it seems, eh?"

"Yes, Pappy." the child says confidently.  Anika draws near to the counter and Isaac smiles at her.

"This is incredible! Anika, I… I have no words!" He laughs at the irony and Anika lays her hand on his arm with a smile.

"Call me Hanna here. And yes, it's a wonderful thing that has happened today! I'm so happy for you both, and Ethan, of course. He took it really well when Mrs. Young explained the truth to him."

"That's great news, Hanna." He emphasizes her alias and gives her a wink.

"Why don't you look around some more and just let me know what you want?"

"Thank you." Anika returns to browsing and Isaac sits Ethan on the counter while he waits for any other customers to come in. There is the sound of raised voices outside and Isaac lowers Ethan onto the floor behind the counter, directing him to stay there. Anika is at the far corner of the store when the door bangs open and five men dressed similarly in grey and black livery enter the store. The Martinez family crest adorns the left chest of each one in gold thread. Anika's heart drops and she spins to face the wall, feigning interest in the jars of preserves on the shelf. _How could Sergio's men have found me? Did they see Sonehso:wa? What if they harmed him or took him into custody?_ A million terrifying thoughts careen through her head.

"There! Look at her hair; what luck." a man says in Spanish, making Anika tremble.  She fights it, afraid it will give her away.  The man switches to English and addresses Anika.  "You, woman! Turn around!" Anika peeks over her shoulder but remains facing the wall.  The group approaches her purposefully and Isaac raises his voice.

"You'd best leave my daughter alone or I swear there'll be Hell to pay!" He reaches under the counter and appears to be resting his hand on a weapon.

"What are you going to do about it, you gouty old man?" Two of the men round the counter and stand blocking Isaac's way out from behind it, holding pistols pointed at him. Isaac raises his hands in the air angrily as Ethan hides behind his legs. The other three approach Anika where she stands clutching a jar of concord grape preserves to her chest and doing her best to look frightened and confused. It isn't far from how she's really feeling. One of the men grabs her arm and uses his other hand to lift her chin up so he can see her face.

"Green eyes, too. What's your name?" Anika is shaking but she affects Cat's Londoner accent when she responds.

"P-please, sirs, my name is Hanna. Please don't harm me!"

"Unhand my daughter!" Isaac roars from behind the counter. The man with his hand on Anika's arm drags her away from the shelves and pushes her toward the counter a few steps. One of the other men mumbles to him in Spanish, but Anika understands what he says.

"She doesn't have a German accent. Why cause more trouble? It isn't her."

"I'll cause trouble if I want to." Is his flippant response. He faces Isaac and roughly takes Anika's face in his hand, turning it toward the counter.  "This pretty face of hers is of interest to us. That and her green eyes and blonde hair." He pointedly looks down at her body with a vulgar sneer as he speaks, including her figure in his interest.  "Rather coincidental that we're looking for a woman with those features accompanied by an Indian, and there's an Indian outside with a few newly broken ribs, I wager." Anika's eyes widen and Isaac almost imperceptibly shakes his head at her, his expression telling her not to panic. At that moment, Ethan bursts from behind the counter, dodging a grab by one of the men standing at the end. He screams at the man holding Anika and pummels his leg with his fists.

"No! Go 'way!" The man holding Anika's face releases it to swat at the boy. Anika's heart races that they will harm him.

"Ethan, stay back!  Stay back, darling!" Somehow, she manages to maintain her feigned accent.

"No!" Dodging the man's swat, he takes two handfuls of Anika's skirt and clings to her. When one of the other men reaches down to drag him away, Anika shouts at him.

"Don't you _dare_ touch him!" She smashes the glass jar of preserves on his head. Blood and sticky grape preserves run down his face and he raises his hands to his head, enraged.

The man holding Anika slaps her face and shoves her away hard enough that she stumbles. She crouches down and takes Ethan in her arms, pressing his face to her chest to keep him from seeing the bloody man. Only then does the boy's bravery leave him and he bursts into tears.

"Forget it, it's not her, she didn't have a brat. Let's go." The evident leader calls off his men holding Isaac at gunpoint and drags their injured comrade out. He is swearing and hurling threats at Anika in Spanish, thinking she doesn't know the vile things he promises to do to her if he ever finds her alone.

As soon as the men leave, Isaac runs to Anika and Ethan and takes them both in his arms. Broken glass litters the floor and the purple preserves are seeping into the floorboards. The sound of galloping horses indicates that the men are truly gone.

"I had no idea it was this bad. If I'd known, I would have insisted you stay at the house." The door bangs open again and Sonehso:wa stumbles in holding his right side with his left hand. His nose and mouth are bleeding and the left side of his body is covered in dirt but he only has eyes for Anika. He stops when he sees that there is no one left in the place but the three of them.

" _Sosowa!_ " Ethan shrieks, his voice full of fear for the sight of his injuries.

"He's alright, Ethan." Isaac restrains the child as Anika rises to her feet and goes to Sonehso:wa. Isaac calls to her.

"Go in the back room; get out of sight in case they come back." Anika leads Sonehso:wa behind the counter and through the door into the back as Isaac moves to the front door and locks it, flipping his sign around.

Lighting a lantern with the flame of another, Anika brings it close to Sonehso:wa's face where he is leaning against a crate. Wiping some of the blood away with her fingers, she sees most of it is coming from his nose. The left side of his upper lip is starting to swell and it appears that his teeth had punctured it when he had been hit.  Anika makes a tsking sound of distress.

"I am fine, Jitkwa':e. It is you I am worried about. Did they hurt you? Your cheek is red." His speech is slightly garbled from his swollen lip.

"It was just a slap. I'm unharmed. You're not." She moves the lantern to Sonehso:wa's side where he is still holding his hand against his ribs. He resists her attempts to lift his shirt or move his hand until she glares at him. He slowly moves his hand away and Anika slides his shirt up. Two identical half moon shaped marks darken his skin one below the other. They are clear imprints of the front of a booted foot and the area is already starting to swell. Anika sucks in her breath and looks at Sonehso:wa's face, placing the lantern on the crate beside him.  "What happened?" she asks, gravely.

"I was leaning against the wall of the building and they rode up on their horses. As soon as they dismounted they attacked me. Not a word was said before one of them walked up and punched me. I dove partly behind where the horses were tied so they had a hard time reaching me. This would have been a lot worse if they had gotten me out in the open."

"Dammit!" Anika cries, kicking the crate Sonehso:wa is sitting on, her face reddened in rage. Sonehso:wa extends his hand to her but she crosses her arms over her body and paces away, ranting.  "You could have been anyone! How many other Indian men have they attacked? How many other women with my hair and eyes have they terrorized? They were Sergio's men, Sonehso:wa!   His house insignia was on their uniforms. They were looking for _us!_  They held a gun to Mr. Young and I'm sure if I hadn't hit that one with the jar…." She is crying by the end of her tirade, thinking of the horror Cat must have gone through as the captive of men like that. _Where does Sergio_ find _these people?_ she wonders _._

"Anika." Anika spins to face the door, her hands in fists against her sides. Isaac is standing in the doorway holding Ethan. When she approaches him, he places his hand on her shoulder.

"You did well back there. Sonehso:wa." Isaac looks intently at each of them in turn.  "I want you both to stay here until it's dark. I'm leaving my shop closed for the rest of the day. Do not go near the windows; do not leave. I'll get your things from the house and bring them to you. Once the streets have emptied, you're to leave the city under the cover of night. I'll take no chances of something else happening."

"What if they are watching this place?" Sonehso:wa questions Isaac.

"There is a door in the back that connects to the next building. I'll ask the owner if we can use it. I know he won't refuse me."

The afternoon passes slowly. Isaac had cleaned up the mess on the floor but the stain on the floorboards remains.  He had left shortly after their conversation, taking Ethan and locking the door behind him.  A few customers had knocked on the door or peered through the windows, ignoring the closed sign but each one had given up after only a short time. The sliver of sunlight that stretches into the storage room from the partially opened door shifts over the floor and casts longer and longer shadows as the sun lowers toward the horizon. Sonehso:wa lies stretched on the floor, his chest growing tighter as the bruises on his side swell up and constrict his breathing. Anika does her best to make him comfortable, bringing him a folded horse blanket to rest his head on and cleaning the blood off his face. At first he had refused to lie down, insisting he felt fine but after he sneezed from the dust in the back room and Anika saw his clenched teeth, she made him. If she had given him the choice, he would have remained on his feet. She gathers a few things for their travels while they wait, collecting them together on top of the crate in a small pile. It is mostly dried meats and cheese. They have nothing to cook in and bringing anything to do so would only make their load heavier and unwieldy. After staring at the pile for over an hour, she adds a small bar of soap, knowing it is a luxury that will take up precious space.

When the sky is full of stars and the sounds of pedestrian traffic has stilled to almost nothing, the loud grating of the key turning in the door startles Anika from her nap. Lifting her head from where it had been resting on her arms, she watches as Sonehso:wa gingerly rises to his feet beside her, a grimace on his face and his hand over his side. Isaac meets him at the door carrying his bag and another in his hands.

"I brought your things. My wife insisted that I give you some of Sarah's clothes. She offers her best wishes to you both and is very upset about what happened. Ethan was pretty shaken up but he's still talking."

"Thank you, Mr. Young. Your kindness will not be forgotten." Sonehso:wa takes the bags from Isaac, crossing the strap of his over his chest so the bag rests on his left hip. Anika takes the other bag full of clothes from him before he can loop it onto his body as well.

"Is that all you're taking with you?" Isaac eyes the collection of food on the crate with skepticism.

"When we are farther from the city, there will be more animals to hunt. It will be enough." Sonehso:wa assures him as he loads the items into his bag and ties it shut.

"Don't be proud, son. That injury will slow you down," Isaac scolds him gently.  Anika steps closer and lays a hand on Sonehso:wa's arm.

"We'll manage, I am sure, Mr. Young."

"If you insist. I don't want you starving on the way. Though Connor will probably want to kill me anyway when he finds out I failed him."

"Ratonhnhake:ton will not want to kill you."  Sonehso:wa assures him. 

"It's a manner of speaking, Sonehso:wa. Well, this isn't how I had planned on sending you off. Follow me." Isaac leads them to the back corner of the storage room with one of the lanterns and moves some heavy crates aside so he can access a hatch low in the wall. Producing an old key, he unlocks it and hauls it open on its rusty hinges. He reaches inside with a second key and turns another lock. The door won't budge. Sitting back, he extends his legs and kicks the door. It shifts open a few inches.

"Heh, Colin said he wasn't sure if he had anything heavy in front of it. I guess he did." He gives the door a few more kicks until it is open enough to crawl through. When his feet disappear, Anika frowns, hikes her skirts up indecently over her knees and scrambles through, trying to keep the dress from dragging through the layers of dust. Sonehso:wa goes through last, getting to his feet slowly. His face is expressionless and Anika wants to weep for his concealed pain. While Isaac is unlocking the door to the outside, Anika takes his right arm in her hands and squeezes it, kissing his shoulder. Sonehso:wa covers her hand with his and attempts to smile for her sake but it falls flat.

Outside, the air is chilly and their breath mists as they breathe. The grey horse is tied up in the alley between two buildings, Sonehso:wa's sleeping mat and blanket already lashed to the back. Sonehso:wa wordlessly walks to the horse and removes his bag, holding his hand toward Anika for her to give him hers as well. She complies and he goes about securing them to the horse. When he is done, Isaac approaches him.

"I know you two will be fine. Take care of her, son, she really is like a daughter to us now. I hope we can see you both again under better circumstances." Isaac looks fondly at Anika and she lowers her head, embarrassed. Sonehso:wa nods and mounts the horse, somewhat less gracefully than he usually does. As Anika holds out her hands to Isaac to bid him farewell, the man takes her in his arms and hugs her instead.

"Mr. Young, you and your wife have been so kind. Thank you,"  Anika says into the side of his head.  Isaac steps back and holds her arms.

"My dear, we should be thanking you. You gave us back our grandson. For that, we're in your debt forever. Sarah would have liked you." His voice is choked and Anika kisses him on his bearded cheek. Isaac guides her to the horse with his hand on her elbow and then lifts her up behind Sonehso:wa. The green dress covers her legs better than her blue dress had, and Anika has little trouble adjusting her skirts quickly. She tucks her shawl around her shoulders and smiles down at Isaac.

"Give Ethan a kiss for me, Mr. Young. Tell him I'll miss him."

"I will. Now go!" Isaac says.  Sonehso:wa nods at his command and Anika puts her hands on the sides of his waist, being careful not to touch anywhere near his injured ribs. The horse seems eager to go and leaps into motion the moment Sonehso:wa gives him his heels.

 

 

The first night after leaving Albany had been the most difficult for Sonehso:wa. His body protested every movement, and there were many, he came to realize. So used to riding horses, he had been unaware of just how many of the muscles in his side were essential to balancing on a moving animal. When they had finally stopped to rest for a few hours, he dreaded what the morning would bring. His fears were not unfounded. From the moment he woke, his side was on fire. Anika insisted on looking at his injuries that morning and he had reluctantly given in to her request knowing she would not like what she saw. The bruises had darkened and spread, covering almost all of the side of his chest from just under his armpit to halfway down his waist and the two places where he had been kicked were nearly black. His skin was unnaturally puffy and the lines of his ribs and muscles had become indistinct and in the worst places, obliterated completely by the swelling. Anika had merely frowned once and turned away but he knew the sight disturbed her greatly.

As the days had passed, the swelling had mercifully gone down, giving Sonehso:wa the most relief to his discomfort. He found himself more interested in talking instead of using all his energy to contain any outward display of his agony. His bruising dissipated into a large ring of discoloration defining the outer borders of his original area of swelling, the center still marked by darker blotches and two persistent, hard lumps under his skin. It only hurt if he actively touched them, so he avoided doing anything that would press against his side. Isaac had been correct in predicting that his injuries would limit his ability to hunt. For three days, he had not been able to shoot anything with accuracy. The act of pulling his bowstring was excruciating and it made him sweaty and unfocused when he felt grating movements in his side as his muscles worked. He had probed the area with his fingers, nearly faint with pain, and had determined that at least two or three ribs had been damaged. It angered him that he could not provide for Anika as a man of his tribe should, having to rely on their supplies more heavily than he had anticipated. He mused that it would be better for him to be dead than useless.  Yet, Anika had been patient with him, putting up with his silence and irritation with poise and compassion. She made sure to be careful where she put her hands while riding and whenever she had kissed him she never forgot to avoid the area where his lip had been cut.

A week after leaving Albany, the skies fill with dark clouds, spreading a grey gloom over the forest.  Shadows stay long and the wind picks up. With the clouds comes a light drizzle that permeates the air like mist. It settles into every surface, chilling both Anika and Sonehso:wa, even when they walk beside the horse. Sonehso:wa knows they are within only a couple days of the cabin at most and after being away for so long, he finds himself anxious to be back. The raw weather wears on their patience with each other with its inconvenience and Anika shivers with a sigh behind him. As if it were a cue, the skies open up, letting loose a heavy deluge of rain. Sonehso:wa laughs cynically and shakes his head. Anika rests her head on his back and pulls on his wrap with a loud exclamation of frustration. Only a short time later the partially collapsed cabin Sonehso:wa had seen shortly after he had begun his journey to New York comes into sight through the trees. Though there are still hours remaining in the day, he steers the grey horse toward it.

"We will stop here and take shelter until the rain stops."

"Oh, thank GOD!" Anika groans.

The uncollapsed side of the cabin is filled with leaves and broken furniture but it's dry. The other side is completely inaccessible where the roof is in rotted ruins. A rivulet of water pours steadily from a section of the rotted roof in the destroyed section of the cabin and splashes onto the floor near the entrance, running in a small stream out the front of the cabin. An old bed sits in the corner of the structure, its sagging mattress littered with leaves and the evidence of animal occupation. Sonehso:wa crouches by the fireplace, stacks pieces of broken furniture and dried leaves together and works at getting a fire started. Anika takes the seat of a ruined chair and scrapes the scattered debris and windblown leaves together, clearing the area as much as possible and dragging it closer to the fireplace to be used for fuel. Once that is done, she inspects their supplies. Everything is soaked, with the exception of the inner area of the bedroll and blanket from being rolled up. By the time Sonehso:wa has a fire going, she has spread out most of the wettest things to dry around the room and has used a damp hand towel to clean most of the dust from the floor of the small room, making several trips back and forth from the rain water leaking into the other side to freshen the fabric.  At last she removes her sodden boots and places them beside the fireplace to dry. Sonehso:wa moves back from the fire when it is crackling and consuming the bits of furniture, casting off welcome heat. Anika hunches beside him on the mat before the young fire. Her hair is soaking wet and she shivers, wrapping her arms around her body. A steady draft of chilly air blows through the doorway next to the chimney so Sonehso:wa drags the musty, straw filled mattress off the bed and over to the opening, upending it over the cracked door frame and propping part of the bed supports on it to keep in the warmth. He takes off his boots, weapons and wrap, checking the integrity of his bow string and distributing the items near the fire to dry.

They sit side by side and wring out their hair, sharing a smile as the drops splash onto the hearth. Anika had traded the green dress with its need for her to be tightly laced into her corset for her old blue dress that actually fits her body correctly on the first night. She had considered trying on some of Sarah's other things but had changed her mind, assuming they would all be slightly too small for her. With days of travel ahead of her, the thought of being so constricted the entire time had brought on a wave of anxiety. Immediately discarding the thought, she had simply loosened her corset to its normal place and pulled on the blue dress. Now the blue dress is soaking wet and she faces no other option for dry clothing. Rising to her feet, she turns her back to the fire and starts unbuttoning her dress. The wet fabric is heavy and it sticks to her arms as she pulls it off. When she pushes it down past her hips, if falls to the floor with a sloppy sound. She steps out of it and pushes it away with her foot.

Anika sighs and reaches behind her back to tighten her corset. It, too, is soaked and the knots in the strings have become swollen and tight. She blindly gropes at the knots, picking at them with her fingernails. She hears Sonehso:wa move on the mat by the fire and then his warm hands are on hers, moving her fingers from the ties as he takes her in his arms, pulling her back against his body.

"Why do you wear this thing? It changes your body and traps you inside of it."

"I have to wear it."

"Cat does not wear one." He says softly.  Anika gasps.

"How could you know that?"

"She wears hides like me. And like Ratonhnhake:ton. Not things like this." He lifts her petticoat slightly by her hip.

"I would be a spectacle if I didn't wear these clothes."

"Maybe I do not understand the custom of women wearing such restrictive clothing. I prefer seeing you as you really are, not tied up in this." He tugs on the edge of her corset before moving his hands to her waist and stepping backwards. Lifting his fingers to the strings of her petticoat, he tugs the bow loose.  In the middle of her back, he slowly unties the knots of her corset. As he loosens the strings, he brings his face closer to Anika and kisses her on her cheek before moving to her neck. Anika has her hands on her stomach, holding the corset against her body the way she used to when Cat would help her get into and out of it. With one hand, Sonehso:wa lowers her hands from her stomach and pulls up on the back of the corset with the other. Anika raises her arms and lets him take it off of her. He drops it on the mat and turns her around to face him with his hands on her hips.

"That is better. Look at you... Perfect." Anika looks down at herself. Her shift is dry where her corset had been and she does feel better when she can take a deep breath. Sonehso:wa is watching her with a smile when she looks up at him and his hands massage her hips, pausing only long enough to help her petticoat drop to the floor. Anika's body remembers the last time he looked at her in such a way and it responds to his touch with an electrifying burst of warmth where his fingers had discovered her secret place before. She steps over her crumpled petticoat to move closer to him and brings her arms up around his neck. He pulls her hips tightly against him and kisses her softly, taking his time and very slowly adding to the intensity until Anika is pulling on his neck for more. Sonehso:wa steps back and removes his belts, dropping them on the floor and taking his shirt off, depositing it beside them carelessly. His movements are still stiff but he tries to hide it from her. Anika's eyes are drawn to his side and she touches the bruises lightly with the fingers of her left hand.

"Stop that." Sonehso:wa whispers, gently taking her fingers in his right hand and bringing them to his mouth. He kisses each of them and then moves her palm to his cheek. With his left hand, he reaches to her wet hair and pulls a section forward over her shoulder. It is darker in its dampened state but no less beautiful to him. He wants to see all of her, so he takes the ribbon on the neckline of her shift between her breasts and pulls the bow out. Anika drops her arm to her side and watches his face as he hooks his finger into each section of lacing and tugs it loose, her breathing rapid and expectant. When her shift is hanging from her, Sonehso:wa reaches his hands to her shoulders and slides the straps off of them. His fingers trace the curves of her collarbones and then sink to her breasts. As he caresses and cups them in his hands he kisses her, his lips moving from her mouth to her jaw. He curls his fingers over the neckline of her opened shift and slowly drags it down. With every inch revealed, he kisses his way down her neck and chest to her breasts. Once her shift clears the fullest part of her breasts, it falls easily to her hips and settles there.

Anika cannot believe that she is letting him strip her naked. She should be abashed at her wanton behavior but she cannot bring herself to be. This is what she wants and there is no one left to judge her. One of the only people she cares about is far from everything she knows and the other is kneeling before her, his lips roving over her breasts and his hands caressing every exposed inch of her skin. He is gentle and caring, his eyes turning upwards to her face now and then as he gives her the most extraordinary new sensations with his touch and tongue. She gasps when Sonehso:wa sucks upon her nipple. Standing up, he pulls her to him and kisses her mouth, the new feeling of her body against his, skin to skin, sparking pleasant chills down her spine. He leads her over to the mat and stops kissing her to guide her to a sitting position on it. As he kneels over her, he runs his right hand over her breast and down her stomach, hooking his finger under the gathered edge of her shift.

"I want you, Jitkwa:'e…" Sonehso:wa looks into her eyes as he speaks. In answer, Anika braces her hands behind her and raises her hips off the mat. Sonehso:wa brings his other hand up and slides her shift the rest of the way off, letting his fingers graze the skin of her legs. His eyes are drawn to the triangle of hair between her thighs and his breath catches in his chest when he sees that it is not much darker than her golden locks he so loves, only partially hiding the soft curves of her sex. Immediately, he wants to touch her, taste her and take her but he only sets her shift aside, mustering his self control. He gets to his feet and loosens the ties holding his pants. Anika watches him as he takes them off, his erection springing free and standing out from his body. She lifts her gaze from it and looks up at him, her eyes revealing fear. Sonehso:wa knows he is a sizeable man but he has never found that he cannot give a woman pleasure, even if it is her first time. Seeing Anika's fear tempers his urgency and he is determined to make sure she is ready for him so he will not hurt her.

Anika questions her decision briefly when Sonehso:wa stands naked before her. Remembering Cat's tearful description of how Francisco had hurt her on her wedding night, she tenses when Sonehso:wa lowers himself to her right side and gently uses his right hand on her shoulder to lay her back. His erection lies on her thigh, warmer than the rest of his body and surprisingly heavy. The rain drums loudly on the roof above them and the sound of it, combined with his renewed kisses begins to relax her muscles. Sonehso:wa's hand travels over Anika's skin, brushing a nipple, cupping a breast and squeezing it softly, circling her navel, sliding through her pubic hair and down, stealing some of her slick wetness before traveling back up toward her breasts again. When he breaks away from their kiss to take more of her hair and pull it forward between her breasts, Anika brings her left hand to his arm and strokes it. Sonehso:wa smiles and turns his arm, taking her hand and drawing it to his chest.  He guides her hand down his body until her fingers brush over the narrow trail of dark hair below his navel.  Slowly, he leads her hand further, following the line as it widens into a thicket of black pubic hair.  At long last, her fingers stroke over the length of him and his erection lifts into her palm with eager anticipation.  Anika inhales at the feel of it and Sonehso:wa watches her face as she glances at him and then looks back down at her hand on his penis. She runs her fingers over him, circling the end and letting it slip from her fingertips.   Sonehso:wa shifts his body lower beside her when she has freed him, moving his right knee between her legs and gently pushing her left knee to the side. Anika's body tenses and she grips his arm, only relaxing when he does nothing more than rest his weight on the knee between her legs and kiss her breasts. Slowly, he kisses down her chest and stomach, trailing his hands after and settling them on her sides just below her breasts. Lower still he goes, his lips branding her body with warmth and curving along the edges of her pubic hair. His hands move to her hips and almost at the same moment, he brings his mouth to her and parts her with his tongue.

She is sweet and tart, slightly salty and so very satisfying when Sonehso:wa finally tastes her. Her body is awash with movement under his hands and she sighs and gasps at once. After his initial taste, he draws back to look at her. Her head is thrown back and her arms are by her sides with her hands palm down and pushing against the mat. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, lifting her breasts enticingly.  The sight of her is enthralling and Sonehso:wa is torn between wanting to stare at her or give her more. His love of giving pleasure wins and he lowers his mouth to her once more with a deft flick of his tongue, Anika's cry of delight making him smile against her hair as he then delves his tongue greedily between her lips, licking every fold and moving with her as she twitches. Her knees bend up and she opens her legs wide to him. She is unaware when he moves his other knee between her legs, for he is using his tongue, flicking it on her sensitive center and holding her steady with his hands on her hips. He can't get enough of her taste or the sound of her gasps and moans so he leans his face against her and sucks, still moving his tongue on her pearl. She grabs his head in both of her hands and arches up to his face, pressing herself against him with a loud cry.  A new burst of wetness comes from her as she rides out her climax. Her hips and hands fall to the mat when it is over. Lifting his face from her, Sonehso:wa wipes his lips and chin with the back of his hand, hungrily watching her panting below him. The light from the fire catches the shining moisture that graces the patch of hair between her thighs, a combined excess of her arousal and Sonehso:wa's generous leavings.  Spread so wide, her pink, inner lips resemble the petals of an exotic flower, flush with dew and ripe for picking.  

Sonehso:wa moves closer to her, resting his weight on his hands on either side of her body. He is now completely between her legs and when he leans over, his erection rests on her lower abdomen. Still slightly euphoric from the high of her orgasm, Anika receives his kisses, tasting herself on his tongue and only beginning to return them with passion when he reaches down and presses his fingers to her sensitive nub. The surge of tingling heat that courses through Anika's body surprises her so soon after such powerful waves had taken her over. Sonehso:wa kisses her jaw and murmurs in her ear but Anika does not understand his words, nor does she care to ask their meaning, for she is lost in anticipation. Sonehso:wa sits back on his heels, runs two fingers through her delightful, slippery wetness and spreads her moisture over his erection. With his right hand guiding him, he slides the tip of his penis between her slick folds, settling it against her untried entrance. Anika's legs tighten against his sides as if to keep him away but he leans over her again, supporting his weight with his left hand and kissing her neck and shoulders until her muscles relent. Anika feels the moment he begins to push into her. It is an odd sensation; not painful but not easy, either. He only advances slightly before stopping and moving his right hand to her pubis, working her pearl with his fingers until her thighs relax away from him and her head falls back, her body experiencing sensations in far too many places to keep track of.

Anika tentatively squeezes her muscles around Sonehso:wa where he enters her and he moves back and forth slowly, not going any deeper.  Even with so little of his length inside her, Anika can feel his substantial girth opening her beyond comfort.  He continues to manipulate her with his fingers, encouraging her body to ease his penetration.   Just when Anika is getting used to how he feels, he pushes deeper. Her body accommodates him, yet she is stretched so much that she cannot withhold the troubled noise that escapes her throat. Sonehso:wa stops and looks at her carefully, pulling his right hand from between their bodies and resting it next to her head.

"Am I hurting you, Jitkwa:'e?" Anika shakes her head.

"No... not really. It's… fullness, strange."

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks.  Anika shakes her head again and Sonehso:wa kisses her hard, for he could not have borne it if she had said yes.

She is warm and exquisitely tight around him, velvety soft and wet and everything Sonehso:wa loves about sexual intimacy.   She feels so good that all he wants is to plunge into her and satisfy his need but her inexperience and the ache in his side restrains him. He is sure she will not come through this without at least some pain but he wants so desperately to show her he can bring her pleasure with it. When Anika kisses him and takes a handful of his hair with her right hand, he starts to move deeper into her. He almost loses control when she gasps against his mouth, his pleasure mounting to a dangerous high before he can hold it back. She feels even tighter than before and he pushes slowly but steadily against her inner resistance until he feels himself come to the extremity of her depth. Almost all of his length is inside her. Pausing to catch his breath and gain more control, he is surprised to open his eyes and see Anika looking back at him. Her mouth is open slightly as she takes shaking, irregular breaths. Sonehso:wa strokes a finger down her cheek and runs his right thumb over her bottom lip. Dropping his hand to the section of hair he left between her breasts, he picks it up and brings it to his lips. Anika tips her head back, her muscles tensing and squeezing the full length of him inside her.  Sonehso:wa groans and pulls almost all the way out of her, resting his hand against her sternum. Anika grabs it and he moves to her breast, keeping her hand over his. With one smooth, controlled movement, Sonehso:wa buries himself in her as far as he can go and Anika arches her body beneath him, letting out a gasping, breathy scream. Her fingers tighten in his hair and on his hand and Sonehso:wa groans with pleasure at how good she feels.  Keeping his pace as slow and controlled as he can, he moves rhythmically inside her, varying the depth of his thrusts. When they are shallow, Anika moans and tosses her head. As his pleasure increases and he nears his limit, he pushes deeper, taking advantage of her increasing natural lubrication as she becomes more and more stimulated.  Sonehso:wa's deeper thrusts make Anika cry out and pull his hair. Tightness builds in him and he picks up his pace, driving into her with less control and using the pain in his ribs to delay his release. Anika wraps her legs around him and the change in angle throws him over the edge. He can suddenly go even farther inside her and his pelvis makes full contact with hers with every thrust.

Sonehso:wa moves over Anika, his pleasure all over his face as he exhales in bursts with his eyes squinting closed. There was some pain when he had first filled her completely but it had faded as she had become slipperier, lessening the friction of his steady movement. Though the sensation of him inside her is still new and unusual, it has crossed over into a pleasant kind of strangeness. Anika gives herself up to it, relaxing her body and allowing herself to feel it all. Sonehso:wa opens his eyes and for a moment, they are staring at each other. His hair spills over his shoulders and moves with his rhythm, shifting over her skin and tickling her slightly. Wanting to pull him as close to her as possible, she tightens her legs around his hips. He groans and closes his eyes tightly, pushing his hand between their bodies and working her pearl with a will. His thrusts become even deeper, feeling as if he is displacing everything inside her pelvis. It is yet another new feeling and she cries out loudly from his fingers and even louder at the change in his penetration. The combination brings her to a second, different climax that pulses within her, making her want to scream and weep and laugh all at once.  Instead a broken cry emerges from her throat, a combination of all three mixed with a lovely growing oblivion.  Sonehso:wa's voice joins hers and he throws his head back, delving into her several more times, hard and fast, until he almost collapses on top of her with his final thrust.  Anika's muscles continue to convulse around him several more times and he groans into her neck. She tightens her fingers in his hair, scraping her nails along his scalp, and he kisses her until their hearts slow and their breathing returns to normal.

All too soon, the sweat cools on their bodies and Sonehso:wa starts to slip out of her. He leans back and takes her hips in his hands, moving so that their lower bodies are off the mat. Anika is confused until he pulls out and a gush of warmth follows. He leans forward and kisses her again before getting up and moving toward the door. Anika watches the play of his muscles under his skin as he pushes the mattress aside slightly and reaches his cupped hands to the stream of water falling into the entrance to the cabin. He cleans himself of their lovemaking in the light of the fading day. It's still pouring outside but Anika had ceased to notice anything else while Sonehso:wa had been inside her.  She reaches between her legs and touches herself, feeling copious wetness between her legs. When she brings her fingers up, they are coated in Sonehso:wa's thick, sticky seed and the pink tinge of her own blood. A moment of shameful awareness washes over her. She has given herself to this man and he has taken her innocence. It can never be taken back. Sitting up, she raises onto her knees and more of Sonehso:wa's seed leaves her body and trickles down her thigh. The man who had deflowered her looks over his shoulder and smiles kindly at her. He walks to their things scattered about the room and finds one of the folded cloths that had once covered food eaten days ago. Returning to the door, he wets it and brings it to Anika, kneeling down and kissing her.

"Did I hurt you, Jitkwa:'e?" His concern erases her doubt and Anika shakes her head.

"No." He kisses her again and smiles. Anika cleans herself off and wipes up the liquid on the floor. With much less confidence than Sonehso:wa had displayed, she walks naked to the doorway and washes the cloth in the cold rain water. The mattress slides easily into place over the door, once again sealing in the warmth of the fire. Back at the mat, she joins Sonehso:wa where he lies naked and stretched out comfortably, watching her.

"Woman, you are beautiful," he says, stroking her hair when she settles her body along his. Anika looks at his face.

"Man, I'm very cold." He laughs and drags the blanket over them.

For the rest of the night and most of the following day as the rain continues to pour from the sky, they spend their time lazily traveling over every inch of each other's bodies, making love several more times. The rain starts to taper off in the evening hours of the next day and they decide to leave their cozy, ramshackle hideaway and finish their journey.

 

At the cabin, Catherine lies on her stomach on the bed facing the windows and reading one of the dusty books from the chest in the storage room. It is a good day, the second consecutive one that she did not have to leap from the bed and run to the porch, gagging. _How heavenly it is to not feel sick anymore! I must be past that time at last._ Finding stores of energy she had not known existed in her, she had cleaned the entire cabin the day before, standing on the bed and using the broom to clear out cobwebs and dust bunnies from the corners where the rafters meet the roof. She had then washed all the bedding and scrubbed the floors thoroughly, humming songs as she cleaned and having Connor move the furniture away from the walls for her. Rain had been drumming on the roof for an entire day already and it had put Connor in a rancorous mood, trapping him indoors for a second day in a row but Catherine listened to it with exhilaration and energetic happiness, knowing the world was being washed clean. Connor had paced about and restlessly tuned and cleaned his entire weapon collection until his fingers were blackened from gunpowder residue and filings from the edges of his blades. He had remained sullen, sitting on the floor between the sheets and blankets draped over the chairs and table to dry in front of the fireplace, looking like an oversized child in his fort.

When everything had dried and Catherine had remade the bed, she had coaxed Connor onto it and cradled his head in her lap. Once the tie was out of his hair and she had carefully undone his braid and set the small, decorative beads on the shelf in a row, she had run her fingers through his hair. Nothing gives her more satisfaction than watching Connor relax under her touch. He always looks older when he is stressed out or anxious but as she smoothes his hair back from his face and runs her nails lightly over his scalp, the lines on his forehead and around his mouth and eyes fade away, taking years off of him. Catherine has memorized every angle of his face, each line, curve and freckle, down to the last hair of his eyebrows with the tips of her fingers. It seems the only times Connor is at ease is when he lets her caress away his burdens and Catherine is often rewarded with him falling asleep under her touch, even if it is only for a minute.

The rain had finally stopped, and mist lay heavily around the cabin in the morning, clouding the view from the windows and eddying in the breeze created by the falls. Connor had been up since before dawn, probably the moment the rain had tapered off. At the first light of sunrise, he had kissed her where she lay lazily in bed and left the cabin to hunt. Catherine had attacked the storage room as her next cleaning challenge and gasped when she had found the book, shocked to discover such a treasure in the cabin. The other books scattered on the shelves are all in English and comprised of many classical pieces of literature that Catherine had read many times before but this one had been among the things Connor had stowed away when he had claimed the cabin as his own. Finding a copy of "El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha" had been a most pleasant surprise. When Catherine had begun corresponding with Francisco, her father had hired a tutor to educate her and Anika in the Spanish language. The vinegary man had always plied them with the most dry and uninteresting works and had scoffed at the fantastical nature of novels and plays. She and Anika had struggled through the dullest accounts of the history of Spain and religious tomes expounding on the grace of God. By the time Connor returns from hunting, Catherine has devoured almost all of her treasured story as greedily as a child who has found a cache of sweets, leaving the storage room half cleaned and forgotten, the door still standing open.

Connor smiles at Catherine when she looks up at him from her relaxed position on the bed, her cheek resting in her left hand and her right hand poised to turn a yellowed page of the book. With her knees bent and her bare feet crossed in the air, she is a picture of total contentment. He kicks off his boots, hangs up his belt and shrugs out of his wet jacket, walking over and letting himself fall backwards onto the bed next to her, his knees bent over the edge. Catherine closes the book with a dusty snap and leaves it on the edge of the bed, drawing her knees up and flipping herself to lie alongside Connor.

"Did you get anything?" she asks, resting her left hand on his chest and noting the dampness that had saturated through his jacket and onto his shoulders and the front of his chest.

"No." He stares up at the ceiling.

"We have enough smoked venison to last us a long time. No need to worry." She brings her fingers up to his face and turns him toward her, smiling.

"I am not worried."

"Good." Catherine kisses him lightly and rests her head on his shoulder.

"What are you reading?" he asks.  Catherine sits up excitedly and takes the book in her hands, presenting the cover to him with an open mouthed smile.  "I cannot read that, WildCat. What does it say?" Catherine reads the title in a melodramatic voice, gesturing grandly with one hand and bowing from her waist when she finishes. Connor's face remains impassive and Catherine tilts her head to the side and sighs in frustration, making Connor smile.

"I still do not know what it is."

"Don Quijote? It's the famous story of the most insanely chivalrous man and his misguided adventures as he attempts to become a knight of true honor and bravery!" Connor stares at her stoically for several long seconds.

"Are you mocking me?" he asks in a flat, serious tone. Catherine bursts out in laughter at Connor's question.

"Is that what you think of yourself? A man who dreams of knightood and rescuing damsels in distress?" Connor smiles and sits up, taking Catherine around her waist and pulling her over his body as he lies back down. Catherine lets out a squeal but does not fight his embrace. Rather, she straddles him and tosses the book onto the bed near the pillows. The sight of her over him, laughing and smiling, drives Connor almost mad with desire. She is not wearing her hide tunic and with her hair behind her, her body is provocatively displayed by the thin fabric.

"I rescued you, did I not?" Connor asks, flatly, his hands caressing the sides of her waist. Catherine nods and lowers her head close to his face, her hair falling forward from her shoulders and her hands sliding up his chest.

"You did! The ever honorable… Captain Chivalry." She brushes her lips teasingly over his with a soft laugh and pulls back just enough that Connor has to lift his head from the bed to kiss her. His hands wander from her waist, sliding up her back to her shoulders and pulling her down to him. Catherine complies and rests her body fully on his chest. Since the night Catherine had accepted him as the father of her baby, they had shared the cabin's bed. Their kisses had become more passionate in the days that followed as Catherine's heart had really begun to open to him. Her acceptance of her pregnancy had released an unspeakable burden from her and Connor had begun to let his guard down when it came to intimacy. He always let her control the direction and intensity of their dalliances but she had not attempted anything as aggressive as what she had done the first time he had joined her in the bed. They kissed often, sometimes chastely, sometimes passionately, and their hands had started exploring each other's bodies, ghosting over sensitive areas in the semblance of foreplay yet still hesitant of the other's reaction despite the rising sexual tension between them. Catherine had become more confident despite their hesitance to cross that invisible line, and it has started to show in the teasing way she reacts to him. In some respects, Connor is excited by her metamorphosis; it is proof that she is truly comfortable around him but it is also maddeningly, frustratingly erotic.

Connor is spurred to ambition by Catherine's playfulness so he runs his hands down her body as they kiss, lightly squeezing the rounded curve of her buttocks and continuing on to the backs of her thighs. He presses his fingers into her skin and she moans softly into his mouth, shifting against his stomach. Moving his hands to the front of her thighs, he begins ascending up their length. Catherine sits up, breaking their kiss and tossing her hair back behind her shoulders. Connor pauses in his movement but Catherine takes his hands in hers and slowly guides them up her stomach and towards her breasts, never releasing eye contact with him. Boldly taking her breasts in his hands, Connor revels in the feel of their firm softness and the way they fit perfectly into his palms. Catherine closes her eyes and breathes deeply before leaning down into his hands. He bends his elbows and lowers her further, enough for them to resume their kissing.

Catherine holds Connor's wrist in her left hand, loving the way his hands cover her breasts; he squeezes them just enough to bring her thrilling bursts of sensation but not enough to hurt, for they are still tender. She twines her fingers in Connor's hair as they kiss and together they fall into a rhythm that feels so right. He takes his left hand from her breast and moves it to the back of her hip, pressing her body down and raising his up to meet her. They both react to the increased sensations with a throaty moan and Catherine suddenly finds herself being rolled onto her back.

The feeling of being pinned beneath a man so huge jolts Catherine out of her sensual reverie. She grasps at his arms but wills herself not to push him away. _He's not a threat!_ Her body fights her mind, her heart rate picking up to a frenetic pace as she tries to crush down her fear. Connor hovers over her, kissing her neck and massaging her breast, his body flanked by her legs. When he pulls back to look at her, his face is calm for only a moment until he sees her internal struggle showing on hers. Moving quickly, he sits up, takes his hands off of her and shimmies backward on his knees. His reaction makes Catherine want to weep. Sitting up immediately after him, Catherine reaches for him.

"No, stay! I'm alright." Catherine is out of breath and she wants him desperately even as her stubborn fear lurks threateningly near the surface. Bringing her hands to his arms, she pulls on him. Connor looks hard into her eyes and only draws her close when she takes his face in her hands and kisses him. His doubt is evident in the wooden way he moves, his motions no longer fluid and instinctive. In an effort to bring him back to where they were, Catherine tucks his braid behind his ear, bends her fingers into his hair the way he likes and kisses him slowly. Under her touch, his neck and shoulders start to loosen and he becomes less passive, tipping her head back and kissing the left side of her neck in the place below her jaw that he always seems drawn to.  "Put your hands on me," Catherine whispers in his ear, sitting back on her heels and drawing him toward her.

Connor sighs against the skin of her neck as he allows her to tow him down. He is surprised when she wraps her legs around the backs of his knees after how she had reacted earlier. Pulling back from kissing her neck, he looks at her where she lies beneath him. Her eyes are closed and her head is turned to the right on the bed. On either side of her head her arms lie relaxed, her fingers curled softly. All around and under her arms, her hair spreads in an untamed mass of dark rebellion. As Connor watches her his heart is tortured by uncertainty. Her eyes open and she slowly turns her head to face him, her oceanic gaze capturing him completely. There is a determined, yet pleading set to her face and combined with the gravitational draw of her eyes, his caution falters.

"Please… touch me.  I need to feel you touch me." Her whispered plea slashes through the last of his reserve and he reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls at the hide string holding it together in the front. He watches her as he loosens each lace, keeping vigilant for any sign of worry or fear. Catherine exhales and closes her eyes again.

Half way up her shirt and somewhere between her breasts, the tugging on her laces stops and Connor slides his hands under her shirt from the bottom, skimming his fingers over her skin and once again covering her breasts with his warmth. Catherine arches up to his touch, and he responds by capturing her nipples between his second and third fingers of his hands. A breathy cry comes from her and she peeks from under her lashes to watch what Connor is doing. He is staring at his hands on her under her shirt, his lips parted and his eyes luminous with his desire. Taking his right hand from her, he gathers the bottom of her shirt at the side and lifts it up, uncovering her naked breast to his sight. His eyes are hungry. With a quick glance at her just to be sure, he lowers his lips to her nipple and slowly takes it in his mouth. The moment he does, Catherine lets her eyes close fully and her head fall back onto the bed. Jolts of tingling course through her and radiate outward as he uses his tongue and lips to perpetuate and increase her pleasure. His tongue flicks over her, and he moves outward, circling her raised nipple before returning to it.  His lips suck and kiss, yet all the while he teases her flesh with his heated exhalations. Once, twice, he grazes his teeth over the tip of her nipple, sending flashes of purple and blue across the blackness of her vision.

Catherine breathes in deeply in anticipation as Connor raises the other side of her shirt. He pushes it up until it is gathered just below her collarbones and then puts his hands on the mattress on either side of her to look at the heavenly sight before him, drinking in her round, perfect breasts, her chest lifting them invitingly with every inhalation. Her areolas are tight around her hardened nipples, tipping the very center of each creamy breast. The left nipple is a slightly darker shade of rosy pink than the right, no doubt the result of his amorous attentions. There is a tiny, brown mole just under the bottom curve of her right breast and Connor wants to lick it. Catherine's eyes are dilated and shining as she watches him, her respiration rapid and shallow. Breathing through parted lips, she waits for him, her arms still relaxed on either side of her head. Connor rakes his eyes down from her slightly flushed face, lingering on her breasts and then moves over her stomach to her navel and lower. _Is there a fullness under the waist of her pants that wasn't noticeable before?_ Her body seems a little less angular, appearing softer in his perception. She is beautiful like this and it amplifies his need for her. Skimming his hands over her naked breasts, his thumb stroking over her little mole, Connor follows the path his eyes had taken until his palms are over her hips. Curving his hands under her pelvis, he shifts himself until his erection rests against her pubis. When he presses his hardness to her, Catherine closes her eyes and inhales deeply, parting her lips. It drives Connor's arousal to a furiously needy level so he lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her deeply. She returns his kisses in kind, taking a handful of hair on the back of his head and pulling him closer. Her fingers close on his left shoulder and Connor rocks his hips, using his weight to slide his length against her with a heavy, deliberate friction. 

"Oh...."  Catherine sighs with a mixture of pleasure and surprise.  She tilts her pelvis, evidently reaching a position to her liking, for she gasps and tightens her grip on his shoulder and in his hair.

Feeling the need to slow down before he loses all control, Connor raises up on his hands and knees, lifting his pelvis from Catherine's. She whimpers at the loss of sensation but Connor does his best to distract her by bringing his mouth to her right breast and lavishing it with his attentions. Not wanting to leave her left breast neglected, he cups it in his hand, rubbing his thumb over her erect nipple, now cool and slippery with his saliva. He loves how she feels as he strokes his tongue over her, her hardened nipple just firm enough to make him want to bite it. Covering his teeth with his lips, he does, eliciting such a loud cry of pleasure from her that he imagines stripping them both down to nothing that instant and taking her with abandon. If only he knew he could with certainty. Too many doubts still linger and he knows he has to progress slowly or risk harming her. Connor longs to hear her ardently cry out as he enters her, every time he pushes into her and as she climaxes. Only the purest pleasure, untainted by fear or pain of any kind is acceptable for her first time actually making love. He wants to make it right, perfect and healing; to undo the countless hurts she has suffered at the hands of unkind men and make her forget it all in exchange for the blissful escape of total oblivion. The longer they linger in each other's embrace now, the more Connor feels he may be able to give her that gift soon.

The pull of Catherine's fingers in his hair brings Connor back to the moment and he circles his tongue around the subtle edge where her areola and the smooth skin of her breast meet. Moving his mouth down, he finally licks her mole with the tip of his tongue, before trailing over to the space between her breasts. Retaking her right breast in his hand, he kisses his way up toward her neck, jumping over the bunched up material of her shirt and breathing onto her skin before touching his lips to the base of her neck just above her collarbones. He presses his erection against her pelvis once more and Catherine writhes beneath him, making mewling, breathy sounds in her throat as he licks the skin on her neck and starts sucking her sweet warmth to the surface.  With every slow rub of his length over her, Connor gently massages Catherine's breasts in his hands, feeling her soft moans and mews with his lips on her throat.  He shifts his weight to one arm braced on the mattress so he can slide his palm down her body, lingering over her breast and stomach before heading toward the lacing of her pants and the warmth he knows lies hidden under it.  

A sound outside the cabin startles Connor. _Was that a voice?_ His body freezes and he takes his hand from Catherine and reaches to her arms to free himself from her.

"Connor, no! Don't stop…" Catherine whispers. Connor pulls her shirt down, only barely covering her breasts before raising his palm toward her and making a settling gesture.

"Shhh. Cover yourself and stay quiet. Someone is outside." His words send a chill down Catherine's spine and she sits up and drags her shirt down when he moves off the bed and silently advances toward the door. Grabbing her folded hide shirt from her pillow, she hurriedly pulls it on over her head without bothering to tighten the laces of the fabric shirt underneath and watches as Connor moves to put his back to the door, gripping his tomahawk in his left hand. Turning his head to the right, he lifts the latch with a finger and cracks the door open just enough to look outside. Abruptly, his shoulders relax and he lowers the tomahawk, turning his face toward Catherine where she is nervously watching him from the side of the bed. He is smiling.

"He's back! Sonehso:wa?" Catherine asks, her heart leaping with excitement at hearing news of Anika. She strains to look out the windows but they are small and do not show enough of the foggy landscape outside. Connor closes the door and calmly reaches over to put his tomahawk back onto his hanging belt.

"See for yourself," he says enigmatically, moving to the side so she can open the door. Running toward him, Catherine throws her arms around him and kisses him briefly, barely able to do so because of her smile. She releases him and flings the door open, dashing onto the porch barefoot. Sonehso:wa is leading the horse toward her with his right hand and when he sees Catherine, he turns his head and says something with a smile on his face. Anika steps from behind him and Catherine nearly falls to the deck of the porch in shock. Anika is holding Sonehso:wa's hand but lets it go when Catherine stumbles onto the flattened wet grass in front of the porch as if in a dream, her vision blurring from tears filling her eyes. _Is this really happening?_    she wonders.  In only a moment, their arms are around each other and Anika's musical voice is in her ears. They are both crying and trying to talk at once between kisses and hugs.

Connor smiles as he watches the two women embracing. Though he had not initially intended for Anika to end up here, he is relieved that she is safe and Catherine does not have to worry anymore. Having her here ensures there will be no future danger for her. Not wanting to disturb their happy reunion, Connor unobtrusively moves past them and joins Sonehso:wa where he is removing everything from the grey horse by the cliff wall. The chestnut moves closer and smells the grey with curiosity, nibbling his mane.

"You have the worst timing, my friend." Connor laughs, speaking in Kanien'keha.

"Oh, so happy to see you, too, Ratonhnhake:ton! I am glad you did not worry about me getting back safely." They laugh together.

"I was not worried. Should I have been?"

"There were a few… things that happened."

"Was it the adventure you have been looking for?" Connor asks and Sonehso:wa turns to look at Anika as she and Catherine make their way onto the porch with their arms around each other.

"More than you know, brother."


	15. Disclosure

Disclosure 

 

 

 

“I can hardly believe you’re here in front of me, alive and well!  Cat, my heart was broken and I thought you were gone forever!”  Anika and Cat stand on the porch facing each other holding hands.  The waterfall thunders down on the other side of the gorge but any view of it is obliterated by the opaque fog that shrouds the area.

“And I was afraid Sonehso:wa wouldn’t be able to find you or he'd be too late and you would have been harmed or even killed.”  Catherine says.  The women embrace and then stand back to regard each other, as if one or the other would simply disappear if either of them looks away.

“Sonehso:wa assured me that you were safe.  I made him tell me what was done to you.  I’m so sorry, Cat!  I should have stayed with you that day.”  Anika's eyes shine with emotion but Catherine shakes her head.

“Nonsense!  Then we both would have been taken.  I’m glad you were spared what happened.  I couldn't have borne it!”  Anika’s mouth becomes a flat line and she squeezes Catherine’s arms before sliding them down to her hands and gripping them tightly.

“Well. You’re safe. It’s over and you're free of it forever.  Let's not speak of it anymore for now.”  Anika smiles but it fades to worry when Catherine drops her head.

“As much as I can be.  Anika…”  Catherine knows she has to tell Anika the truth.  _Will she come to accept it as I have?_   She takes a deep breath and squeezes Anika’s hands in hers, raising her eyes up.

“One of them…  I don't know who... I’m pregnant.”  She can barely get the words out.  Anika gasps and her gaze falls to Catherine’s stomach and then leaps back to her face.

“No! Cat, no!”  Catherine stands helplessly as Anika takes one hand from her and covers her mouth, shaking her head.  She has to fight her own feelings as she watches her friend react with horror, knowing it is only natural under such circumstances.  "Oh God, are you certain?"

“I'm afraid so. It’s alright.  I was upset when I realized it too but it’s alright now.”  Anika takes her hand again as tears fall from her eyes.  She continues to shake her head.

“How can you say that?  It’s not alright! Oh, Cat, you'll be reviled!  This is awful!” 

“I felt the same at first, but Connor… he loves me and... he's to be the father.”

“That’s impossible! It’s not his.  It’s not even Francisco’s!”

“I know, Ani.  But he doesn’t care that it’s not his by blood, only that he can be the father.  I've agreed to it.  It’s going to be alright, you see?”  Anika frowns and Catherine reaches up to wipe the tears from her face.  They are silent except for Anika’s sniffing as she controls her emotional response to Catherine’s news and decision.  When she has calmed down a bit, she looks at her friend's stomach with more scrutiny.

“How far gone are you?  You don’t look pregnant.”

“I can’t be sure, but I think it’s probably about two months now.  I had some nasty morning sickness but it went away a couple of days ago.  I feel so much better and now you’re here!  I couldn’t be happier!”   Catherine smiles at Anika and the blonde woman smiles back weakly.  The joy of their reunion is significantly dampened so Catherine tries to steer their conversation elsewhere.  “Come inside.  It’s warmer there and I’ll heat some water.  You must be dying for a bath.” 

Anika nods and follows Catherine inside. She looks around the small cabin and watches as Catherine adds wood to the fire and pushes the pot closer.  Her friend does seem content but she looks thinner than the last time she saw her.  Dressed in such strange clothes with her hair down, she seems a tad untamed and, well, like a savage woman. Frowning at her own hypocrisy, she knows she herself must be a fright to behold in her travel stained clothing and probably smelling like the horse.

“So this where he's been hiding you.  It’s small but it looks comfortable.  Did Ratonhnhake:ton build it?”  Catherine spins around at Anika’s usage of Connor’s native name. 

“You say his true name better than I do!  I always call him Connor, and no, he didn’t build it.  He found it.  The old man who built it had died so he buried him in the woods. Connor uses it as a hunting cabin when he’s not at his village or traveling.”  Catherine sits down on the bear hide in front of the fire and pats the space beside her.  Anika takes off her boots with a sigh of relaxation, joins her on the hide and they hug again.  While they hug, Anika heaves a sigh.

“I have some bad news myself, Cat.”  They lean back and sit facing each other.  “I'd rather tell you now than later.  It’s about Sergio and maybe your husband.”  Catherine presses her lips together and looks at Anika.

“Go on.”  she encourages.  Anika takes Catherine’s hands once more and looks down at them.

“Mrs. Zenger… remember her shop?  We used to go together to make sure she had enough bolts every month.”

“Of course!  She’s so very kind.  Is she well?” Anika nods.

“As far as I know…  Her husband knows Ratonhnhake:ton.”

“He must be one of his contacts he wrote to.  How coincidental!”

“Yes, well, she asked me to come to her shop after my work was done one day. I found out later it was because of you and Ratonhnhake:ton.  When I went, I was followed.  It turns out I had been being watched by Sergio’s men since I'd been dismissed.”  Anika sees the expression on Catherine’s face darken as she speaks.

“But whatever for?  They got what they wanted!”

“Sergio has always been a suspicious man, Cat, you know that.  No loose ends for him.  I believe he wanted us both to be taken that day.  He didn’t know I'd visit my family’s graves.  That was a spontaneous decision.  He was probably surprised to see me return alone.”  Catherine nods in agreement.

“He’s an evil man.  And Francisco isn’t innocent either, I know it.”  Catherine's voice is ragged with emotion as she thinks of her abuse, planned by Sergio and maybe even paid for with some of her own inheritance money.

“Cat, it doesn’t end there.”  Catherine exhales, sick, as she ponders what Anika will tell her.  “Sonehso:wa overheard them say they would attack me when I left Mrs. Zenger’s shop and find out what I was doing there.  So we left that night but the men following me saw us.  Mr. Zenger fought one man in the alley, and Sonehso:wa killed a man who grabbed me as I tried to get on the horse.  A third man chased us out of the city but Sonehso:wa shot him with an arrow so we could escape. I had nothing except this dress and my shawl and the boots on my feet.”  Catherine continues to squeeze Anika's hands and they both startle when the door opens and Connor and Sonehso:wa enter.  Connor has the bag from Bethany and the bridle in his hands and Sonehso:wa carries his bedroll and the other bag. Anika jumps to her feet and pulls Catherine up with her, unwilling to let go of her.

Anika looks at Connor as he walks inside with Sonehso:wa.  She had thought Sonehso:wa to be a large man.  Connor is even bigger; he is built like a giant with a massive chest and broad shoulders.  Despite his powerful appearance, his face is kind.  The two men had been laughing as they entered the cabin but Connor’s face grows serious in the presence of the two women and he lowers the bag he was holding to the floor.  His eyes smile at Catherine for a moment before he turns his uniquely golden gaze to Anika.  Standing straight, he couches his curled hand holding the bridle in the palm of the other in front of his waist formally.

“Anika.  Welcome to our cabin.  I see WildCat has started to get you settled.”  Anika lowers her head and gives a half curtsy. 

“Ratonhnhake:ton, I’m so honored to finally meet you.  Please, accept my thanks for what you've done for me and more importantly, for Cat.  You saved her life and I can never thank you enough.”  The women exchange a smile and they put their arms around each other’s waists.

“The honor is mine, Anika.  It brings me much joy to see you both safe and happy.”  His eyes smile more than his face and his gaze shifts between the two women.  Sonehso:wa puts his items down on the floor near the growing collection of boots and stands beside Connor, facing the women.  Catherine looks at him, her heart brimming with gratitude.

“Thank you, Sonehso:wa.  Your selfless efforts were a… a kindness beyond words.”

“It was a rewarding experience.”  His characteristic humorous grin covers his face and Anika unsuccessfully stifles a laugh at his words.  Connor raises an eyebrow at Sonehso:wa, and moves toward the back of the cabin with the bridle.   Sonehso:wa takes off his wrap, boots and weapons and follows him to the supply room, unbuckling Connor’s belt while the women settle back down in front of the fire. 

“We need to talk, brother.”  Sonehso:wa speaks in Kanien’keha when he steps inside the hidden room and holds the belt out toward Connor, the symbol flat on his palm and the belt hanging from either side.  When Connor reaches to take it, he closes his fingers and pulls his hand back.  “This symbol and the people you sent me to...”  Connor looks at the belt buckle enclosed in Sonehso:wa’s hand and back at his friend’s face, his expression impassive.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“That will take some time.”

“I have as much time as you need.  Does Catherine know?” 

“Some of it.”

“When were you planning on telling her the rest?”

“When it becomes necessary.”

“It is necessary now.” Sonehso:wa says, his voice is tinged with anger.  Connor squares his shoulders and tips his chin upwards.

“I will decide that.”  Sonehso:wa glances over his shoulder at the women talking by the fire before pushing Connor farther back into the supply room with a hand on his chest and pulling the door partly closed behind him.  His voice drops to a low growl.  He gestures angrily with the belt.

“When I am asked if I am an assassin and the people who ordered Cat’s capture and who sent men after Anika and I as far as Albany are called ‘Templar sympathizers’ by your contact in New York, I think it is time! I do not know what ‘Templar’ means, but Jacob said he did not have the authority to explain.  You do.  More importantly, your woman deserves to know what you are involved with, especially when it touches her life directly.”  Connor’s defensive posture relaxes slightly.

“This is news to me, brother.  Though I could have guessed that there may have been some connection.  It seems that you are right.  Maybe it would be best to speak of it now when we are together.”

“I agree.”  Sonehso:wa lowers the belt to Connor’s hand.  He starts to turn away but Connor stops him with a word, the belt dangling from his grip.

“Brother.”  Connor's tone causes Sonehso:wa to stop and turn back.  “What is Anika to you?  I saw the way you looked at each other.”

“She is…”  Sonehso:wa trails off, not sure of how to express his thoughts. 

“Take care with her.  The ways of white women are different than ours.  They view certain aspects of relationships as much more binding than we do.”  Sonehso:wa is surprised by Connor's adamant words of caution.  He thinks about what Anika means to him and what they have done together.

“Your words come too late.”  Connor’s eyes open wide and his eyebrows rise up on his forehead.

“Do not harm that girl needlessly with your ways.” 

“I do not intend to. A man can change his ways.”  Sonehso:wa is surprised by his admission.  Never before had he had so much difficulty speaking his mind. 

Sonehso:wa leaves the supply room and walks toward the women.  Connor hangs the bridle beside the other on a nail partly driven into the shelving in the back of the supply room where he had stored the saddles.  Turning his belt in his hand, he sighs at the weight of what he has to reveal and takes a large, burlap wrapped bundle down from the top shelf and lays the belt on top of it.  Instead of returning the bundle to the shelf, he carries it out to the cabin, places it on the bed and starts to open it.  He knew this day would come with Catherine and Sonehso:wa, he just did not expect it to be so soon. 

 

While the men are in the back of the cabin, the women resume their earlier conversation.

“You said you and Sonehso:wa had to escape from the men Sergio had following you,” Catherine prompts.

“Yes.  We thought we were free when we reached Albany.  For a night, we stayed with a couple named Isaac and Bethany Young.  I met their young grandson, Ethan the next day.  When we travelled to Mr. Young’s store to get provisions, Sonehso:wa stayed outside so we would not be seen together.  Five of Sergio’s men were there, Cat.  In Albany.  They flaunted who they were with their official Martinez livery.  They beat up Sonehso:wa outside and came into the store and grabbed me.  Two of the men pointed guns at Mr. Young so I copied your accent and called myself Hanna.   Mr. Young insisted I was his daughter.  They wanted to cause trouble even when they spoke among themselves in Spanish that I was not who they wanted.”

“How did you get away?”

“Ethan ran over to defend me, the little innocent thing, and one of the men tried to grab him.  I smashed a jar of preserves on his head.  The man who held me hit me for it and they left, thinking Ethan was my son.  They were completely deceived.” 

“Good Lord, Anika!  And Sonehso:wa…”  Catherine twists around toward the supply room but Sonehso:wa is almost to them.

“I am unhurt, Cat, just some bruises.”  His use of her personal nickname is strange.  It seems Anika and Sonehso:wa had used the names they are most comfortable with when speaking of her and Connor.  Sonehso:wa sits beside Anika on her right, his left arm crossing behind her and his hand resting on the floor.  Upon closer inspection of his face, Catherine can make out a slight mark from an almost healed cut on his upper lip.  His complexion hides it well.  Catherine probes her own scar with her tongue, the tiny hardened lump under her lip invisible according to Connor but still palpable.  Anika sighs and turns her face from Sonehso:wa to Cat.

“And some broken ribs.  They attacked him just because of his race.  They didn’t even see us together!”  Sonehso:wa puts his hand on Anika’s lower back and makes a soothing noise at her.

“I would rather that than for them to have discovered the truth.  I have been in fights before and lost.”  He looks up at Catherine and catches her eye with a lopsided grin, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted.  “You have healed more since I saw you last, Cat.  I did not expect to see you running,” he says with a smile.   Catherine untucks her left foot from under her leg and touches the thin scar running the length of her sole with her left thumb.  It is pink in color but is mostly healed except for a small scab where the cut had been deepest.

“It’s tight in the mornings but once I walk on it, it feels better,”  Catherine says.  Anika rests her hand on Sonehso:wa’s knee and sighs.

“What a nightmare.  Will it ever end?  Will we ever be able to return to New York without having Sergio’s terrible vendetta hanging over our heads?”  Her question is rhetorical but Connor’s raised voice carries from the back of the cabin.    

“Sergio will be dealt with, as will his son, for what happened to both of you.  Believe me when I say you will have nothing to fear from them or their hired men.  I will make certain of it.”  The three of them turn to face Connor.  He is standing at the foot of the bed.  An odd expression is on his face; a combination of pride, concern and resolution.  He is attaching something to his left forearm.  It looks to be a leather bracer with a silver symbol on top of it.  Anika takes a deep breath and glances at Catherine for a fraction of a moment before turning her attention back to Connor.

“Pardon me, sir, but how can you make assurances such as those?”  Connor lowers his arms, takes his belt from the bed and walks toward them.  He meets each of their eyes in turn, ending with Catherine’s.  He keeps his eyes locked onto hers as he sits beside her and slightly closer to the hearth so he can see them all clearly.  Turning his attention to Anika, he addresses her question.

“You have every right to doubt the possibility of being free of them.  They appear to have greater might and to act without moral restraint.  What can a few men do to fight against such power?  I have asked myself that question many times throughout my life, since I was a child.” His shoulders are curled slightly forward and he holds his belt in both of his hands, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers shifting on the metal buckle. With his eyes remaining fixed on Anika, his face is nearly expressionless.  He lifts his chin slightly, takes a breath and speaks with a heavy exhale, as if the weight of opening up is still too great to pass from him easily.  “What I have come to learn is this:  even one man can make a great deal of difference.  Where there are many soldiers, there is a single commander.  If you can cut off the head, the entire beast will fall no matter how big it is.” 

Connor looks at Sonehso:wa and nods, raising the belt buckle in his hand before placing it on the floor facing him and sliding it forward with his fingers.  Sitting straighter, he regards them all seriously with his hands clasped in front of him.  He keeps his voice low and smooth but there is a set to his jaw that lends an air of confidence won through many trials.

“I am the leader of a group of men and women who fight for freedom.  We are a brotherhood that has been in existence for generations and we are called Assassins.”  He touches the belt buckle in front of him with his right hand and then moves his fingers to the similar one on his bracer.  “This is our symbol…” Clasping his hands again, he continues.

“Our goals have nothing to do with treaties or revolutions or written declarations of independence from any nation, though at times those things and our motivations align.   The enemies we fight are called Templars, men who seek to oppress and rule through fear.  They believe that only through absolute control people will gain freedom and justice.  They use their power and strength to enforce their tyrannical beliefs, crush all liberty and provide peace through domination.”  He opens his left palm and presses the index finger of his right hand into it.  “As Assassins, we root out and eliminate their influential players and the ones who seek to aid or strengthen them. Sergio is one of the latter.  According to what Sonehso:wa learned in New York, he supports the Templars.  For that and for what he has done to you both…”  he looks from Anika to Catherine, the anger in his eyes darkening his amber irises to a smoky copper.  “...he and his men will be dealt with.”  The pitch of his voice becomes lower as he continues.

“Unfortunately, the Templars also seek to wipe out all of us.  We represent disorder and chaos to them.  They view our goals, though similar for wanting freedom and justice, as stemming from idealistic, childish perceptions.  That peace gained from independent thought and personal responsibility is impossible.  They are wrong.   For they have no faith in what humanity as a whole is capable of or that the few fighting for the free will of the many is not just a dream.” His eyes move from Sonehso:wa to Anika and then to Catherine.  They are all silent and Connor traces his thumb and first finger of his right hand over the shining metal symbol on his bracer.  He moves his hand away and gestures with it as he warms up to his argument.  

“The war between Assassins and Templars has been in existence for hundreds of years and will go on long into our lifetimes and perhaps beyond. Today, we continue to fight for freedom; what value does life have if it is without progressive thought and independence?”  Catherine had never heard the man express as lengthy a discourse as this since she had been rescued by him.  He is an articulate speaker and she feels the passion and motivation behind his words to be inspiring.  There is no doubt in her heart that he is a good leader of men despite his reserved manner around her.  She watches him, knowing the high cost of what he fights for and hearing the steady resolve in every word he speaks.  His admitting to killing people of influence is somewhat disturbing but she knows of his capacity to kill already.  It is consistent with what she has come to accept about him and she really isn’t surprised at its larger scale.  However, when she looks over at Anika’s stricken face she can only imagine what her dear friend must be thinking.  Connor’s level voice pulls her from her thoughts.  “And so we continue on.  The few against the many; the seemingly weak against the powerful.   But we are not without our own strengths.”  He holds his left arm out palm up and bends his wrist back.  A blade extends from his bracer with a metallic scrape.  The sound is loud in the quiet cabin.  Moving his hand in an almost graceful manner, he causes the blade to rotate on a pivot in his palm, grasps it in his fist and brings his arm down, plunging the tip of the blade deep into the wood floor in front of his crossed legs.  Anika gasps and jumps, leaning back from him and Sonehso:wa covers her hand with his on his knee.  Connor looks up calmly from where he stabbed the floor and yanks the blade free, spinning it back until it points straight out from the bracer and retracting it with another subtle motion of his wrist. 

Anika tightens her grip on Sonehso:wa’s knee and he squeezes it reassuringly.

“Why is your battle not reported upon in the papers?” she asks, her voice shaking.

“It is not the kind of fight that is done in the open.  We wait in the shadows and make our moves quietly.  Though we act with purpose and for public motivation, we do not wish to start riots.  Our assassinations are strategic moves designed to cripple their power without drawing attention to ourselves.  It prevents innocent people from getting hurt.”

“That sounds an awful lot like a lawless cutthroat,”  Anika boldly suggests.  

“We are not criminals. If I had not acted during the war, Commander Washington would have been murdered and the Templars would have gained the advantage.  Their law is the last thing the people of this land need.”  Anika is quiet as she considers the merit of his actions and then looks into Connor’s eyes, afraid of him yet finding herself boldly defiant.

“What stops you from killing anyone who disagrees with you?” 

“We have morals, a creed.  Unlike the Templars, who will destroy anyone and anything in their way no matter the cost in human life…  we take care to be discriminate.  I have worked hard to perpetuate this creed because my father was not like me.”  His voice is steely and dark with anger at the mention of his father.  He looks at Catherine and her face is tense yet her eyes are sympathetic, giving him the encouragement to expand on his words.  “My father was the leader of the Templars until only a few years ago. A man who carried the title of Grandmaster.  In the ignorance of my younger years, I believed there was a chance to create unity between our two orders during the war.  Over and over, he proved to me that that was impossible.  I watched him kill men for no other reason than sparing their lives would have been… inconvenient.  He openly and knowingly violated the first rule of the Assassin’s Creed.”  A sneer of utter disgust crosses Connor’s face.

“What is this creed?”  Sonehso:wa asks and Connor’s expression fades back to a calm smoothness.

“There are three tenets that govern our actions.”  He holds up his left hand with his index finger raised.  “‘Stay your blade from the flesh of innocents.’  That is the first and most important. We do not kill without cause.  ‘Hide in plain sight.’ We learn to move among shadows and within crowds, blending into the background and becoming unnoticeable.  ‘Never compromise the brotherhood.’  Our actions should never directly or indirectly call into question the integrity of our brotherhood or bring harm to it.”  He raises a finger for each one as he speaks and then drops his hand, closing his raised fingers into a loose fist.  Sonehso:wa leans forward in front of Anika.

“How could you watch your father, the leader of your enemies, commit such violence and do nothing to prevent it?”  His voice is edged with contained anger.  Connor faces him and speaks quietly, his hands palm down on his knees in a semblance of calmness but Catherine sees his fingers twitch, exposing his extreme effort of will.

“I did not do nothing.  I took his life, though it fills me with sorrow that it had to be.”  Sonehso:wa looks at Catherine and she meets his dark eyes steadily.

“You knew that?” he asks her.  Catherine nods her head and Sonehso:wa levels his stare at Connor once more.  “So this Assassin Brotherhood is why you were never in the village for more than a few hours at a time during the war?  Why you dressed as a white man and had such great knowledge of weapons and fighting?”  Connor nods.

“My purpose was divided.  I fought not only for what the Assassins believe in but also to protect our village and our people. I failed to prevent our land from being taken but I still work to keep our people safe, just as I continue to work at keeping the people who have come to this land in search of freedom safe from Templar injustice.  It is why I leave the village and travel to the large cities on the coast.  Sometimes I am at sea, taking our fight where it is needed.  This cabin is where I come to find balance, where I make the transition between Ratonhnhake:ton and Connor.”  When he is silent, Catherine speaks for the first time. 

“Who really is Connor, then?  Is he only the Assassin persona or the actual man who sits before us now?”  Connor faces her and takes in every detail of her posture, expression and tone of voice.  For the first time, fear builds in him at the possibility that he has made her believe he is not who she has come to know in their time together. He directs his answer only to her at first, infusing his words with as much candor as he can muster.  The hard edge leaves his words, replaced by sincerity.

“Connor is just a name, a convenience.  The man I am is who you see, who you know.  I will always be Ratonhnhake:ton in my heart and in my blood yet I am also an Assassin and those who know me as such call me Connor.  I may not have been born to it but the name has become a part of me that cannot be taken away without destroying me.  Just as I am both Kanien’keha:ka and English, two inseparable halves that must find balance in order to survive, I will not sacrifice one name for the other.”  The second half of his answer is more for Sonehso:wa but he never looks away from Catherine.

“I assume the Clan Mother knows this?”  Sonehso:wa asks.  Connor nods, tearing his eyes from Catherine’s face.

“She released me from the tribe when I was fourteen and encouraged me to find the answers I sought, knowing it would change me.  She knows what I have seen, for she has seen them as well.  There are powerful forces at work that guide us on paths that change our lives, yet we will never understand them.  That is why she let me go.”  He refrains from telling of the strange experiences he has had with the mysterious and powerful orbs that bring visions and spirits to life. Some things are better left unmentioned forever, especially when he has seen loved ones long dead live and perish once again before his eyes in a waking nightmare generated by one of those things.  His arms involuntarily press against his sides where his tattoos lie, marking his skin in a personal rendition of traditional Haudenosaunee warrior paint, yet inspired by the shared dream he had experienced by touching the golden orb.  He had chosen to permanently remind himself of it so he will never become too confident in his strength or successes.

Sonehso:wa nods, accepting Ratonhnhake:ton’s explanation more for his assurance that his actions had been given the blessing of the Clan Mother than its political implications, which mean little to him.  If she approved his leaving for this, then it must be for a greater cause than he understands.  Outsiders are more readily adopted into the tribe than those born to it allowed to leave and seek out associations other than neighboring tribes or making treaties for the benefit of the Haudenosaunee.  Maybe the Clan Mother had been given greater understanding from the Spirits and that is why she had encouraged Ratonhnhake:ton to follow this path. 

“What about Mr. Young and Mr. Zenger?” Anika speaks up.

“Both men are in the Brotherhood, among many others spread throughout the colonies.  I recruited and trained them during the war.”

Anika grips Sonehso:wa’s knee harder and he strokes her hand in an effort to calm her.  Glancing at her, he takes note that she sits with her head bowed, staring at her knees with her left hand in her lap.  Her hair has fallen forward from her shoulders and he is unable to see her face but she seems to tremble slightly.  Sonehso:wa leans closer to Anika and whispers to her, wiggling her hand under his.

“Jitkwa:’e.”  She turns to face him slightly and she looks like she is about to be sick.  Her face is pale and her lips are a thin line in her face.  Releasing her hand, Sonehso:wa takes her hair from where it covers her face and moves it back behind her shoulder so he can see her better.  “What troubles you?”  He whispers.  Anika’s brows move together and her lips part as she shakes her head at him. 

“How can you ask me that?  My best friend is living with a trained killer!”  She hisses at him.

“She is safer with him than with anyone else, including her husband.”  Anika nods and swallows her urge to ask them if they have all lost their senses.  Catherine is in love with a man who murders for a living and she wants him to raise her child. Sonehso:wa seemed to accept it easily once he found out the Clan Mother, whoever she is, sent Ratonhnhake:ton off to pursue this heinous life, and the man himself sits right in front of her, a deceptively calm expression on his face and his kind eyes hiding a ruthless killer inside. He has promised to track down Sergio, to kill him and all his goons.  Though her heart does not break for Sergio, she quails in fear at how calmly he speaks of it.  It is too much to bear.  _How did things get so out of control and bring Cat and I to such an unthinkable place in life?_

The silence between them all becomes drawn out and awkward, each person present lost in thought over what has been revealed.  Anika watches as Ratonhnhake:ton and Catherine exchange a long look.  It crackles with emotion but Anika only clearly understands what is displayed on her friend’s face.  What she sees is love, trust, empathy and confidence.  Ratonhnhake:ton’s face is a slab of granite yet he looks almost… relieved.  In the space between their knees and the floor, the shadow of their fingers entwining makes Anika want to scream and hurl her body between them.  _Has he cast a spell on her?_

Sonehso:wa squeezes her hand and she forces herself to calm down.  She suddenly feels worn down and exhausted.  Leaning against Sonehso:wa, she rests her head on his arm and closes her eyes.  Connor’s smooth voice makes her open them a short time later.

“You both must be tired and hungry after your travels.  I believe this water is warming for bathing…”  He gestures to the pot in the fireplace, just starting to send up tiny bubbles from where they have collected on the sides under the surface of the water.  Catherine nods at him and faces Anika, taking her arm in her hands. 

“We can go in the back and I’ll help you get cleaned up.”  She looks up at Connor and directs her next words to him.  “Will you bring the water back for us?”  His answer is to turn and pull the steaming pot away from the fire with the poker and get up.  When Connor stands, the others rouse themselves from their places as well.  Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine catches Sonehso:wa whispering to Anika and then raising her chin with his hand to kiss her softly on her lips.  _So it really is like that with them, is it?_  she thinks.   _Not just a friendly shoulder to lean on after a long trip. That rascal!  Seducing my best friend_!  Catherine smiles and shakes her head, happy for Anika.  Now free of societal restrictions, Anika is more at liberty to be with a man of her choosing than she ever would have been as woman in service with no family to vouch for her.  Though Catherine knows little of Sonehso:wa, what she does know is more than enough to make her content with Anika’s choice.  He had shown her great respect and care and it had left its mark on her.  The sight of them together is entrancing.  They are both so attractive; seeing them expressing affection to each other is almost too much beauty in one place, a blindingly bright spot that leaves an afterimage seared on her retinas.  It is a relief when Sonehso:wa releases Anika a moment later and she steps away from him.

Catherine unlatches a hidden door in the back of the cabin and holds it open for Ratonhnhake:ton.  Anika is beyond being shocked by anything more this day and simply gathers the bag of Sarah’s clothes Sonehso:wa had brought in and waits until Ratonhnhake:ton leaves with a few items in one hand and a smaller pot of the hot water in the other.  He nods at Anika and his lips seem to smile but she only clutches the bag tightly to her chest and lowers her head to slip past him, shutting the door behind her.

Connor approaches Sonehso:wa where he crouches near the fire and lowers the pot to the hearth in front of him.

“I fear I may have made a bad impression on Anika.”

“She is concerned.  I would not be speaking truth if I said I am taking your words easily.  But if the Clan Mother sent you, there is good reason for it.  I cannot deny that vengeance for the violence done to Anika and Cat would be most welcome.  Maybe Cat will be able to help Anika understand your motives better.”  Sonehso:wa drops the cloth into the pot and starts to undress.

“I hope so.  Mine will not be the only secret she learns of this night.” Connor leans his back against the stacked stone chimney of the fireplace and crosses his arms, staring toward the door in the back of the cabin.  He wonders what the women are talking about in there.

“Why speak in vague terms, brother?”  Sonehso:wa reaches into the pot and pulls the cloth out quickly, hissing at the hotness of the water on his skin.

“Catherine has a child growing in her.”  Sonehso:wa’s eyebrows raise and he studiously starts washing his arms, not looking at Ratonhnhake:ton or betraying his surprise.  Instead, he gives in to his favorite habit of digging into his stoic friend’s weak spots, hoping for a reaction.

“You did not waste any time.” Connor glares down at him, uncrossing his arms and balling his hands into fists.

“What do you think of me?  It is not of my spirit!”  Sonehso:wa smiles for a moment at getting a rise out of him but makes a placating gesture with his hand, knowing his remark hit his friend's sense of honor harder than he had intended.

“I know that.  You probably have not even kissed her yet.  It is a shame she had to suffer to receive a child in her.  What are your thoughts on it, brother?” his question leaves Connor staring unseeing at the floor.

“I will raise it as my own.  I hope to be a better father to it than mine was to me.  Perhaps Catherine can gain some joy from motherhood.  She was not so accepting of it in the beginning. Maybe someday I will give her children of my spirit as well, so the pain of her remembrance will fade.”  He frowns at Sonehso:wa.  “And I _have_ kissed her.  We might have done more if you had not shown up and ruined my chances.”  Sonehso:wa throws his head back and laughs robustly, holding the right side of his chest as he does, before turning back to his washing water.  A grimace distorts Connor’s mouth, half of amusement and half of regretful lamentation for his earlier, interrupted foreplay with Catherine.  Now that the occupancy of his cabin has doubled, he doubts he will have another chance to touch her intimately for some time.

 

The hidden room is stocked well with all the supplies necessary for living in this untamed, wild place, allowing the main cabin to retain its sparse appearance.  Catherine has hung the lantern on a nail protruding from the edge of the top shelf near the back and the light it throws off illuminates the rock walls and ceiling, revealing it to not be a room, but a cave.  It opens out into a curved dead end, the wood floor boards ending with a single step down onto a small, irregularly shaped section of hard packed earth.  On the edge of the flooring sits a large cedar chest and the pot of steaming water Connor had delivered.  Two saddles are tucked into the narrow space in the back just beyond the end of the shelving on the left side.  It is quiet with the door shut, but when Anika places her hand against one of the walls a subtle vibration from the falls transmits through the cool stone to her palm.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?  If you didn’t know it was here, you'd never realize that this cave exists.”  Catherine’s voice is soft as she sits on the chest and looks up over her head at the rugged surface of the rock ceiling.  Anika joins her on the chest and takes her hand, squeezing it tightly.  Catherine brings her head down onto her shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re here.  I missed you so much!”  Anika makes a soft noise in her throat and Catherine lifts her had and looks at her.  “What’s wrong?” Anika looks down at the bag in her lap and her fingers play across the surface of the canvas nervously. 

“He isn’t as dangerous as he sounds, is he?”  Catherine’s face crumples as she hears Anika’s constricted voice.

“Oh, Anika.  It can’t be easy to hear what he had to say.  I didn’t know all of it until now, either, but I knew enough.  Enough that when he revealed it to be so far reaching it wasn’t as much of a shock for me.  He’s a good man.  A kind man.  He does what he does because he has to.”

“Does he have to?”  Anika asks.  Catherine nods gravely.

“He believes so.”

“But he killed his father…”

“Only because his father would have killed him if he hadn't acted first.  When he told me about it, I saw the pain in his eyes.  It torments him every day.  I know it wasn’t easy for him to tell us what he did.  You must believe me.”

“It’s so macabre!  He kills to prevent killing.  He plans attacks to promote peace.  It doesn’t make any sense!”  Anika cries.  Catherine squeezes her hand and the women are silent as Catherine tries to formulate words that will be enough to pacify her best friend’s worries. 

“Sonehso:wa has killed for you…  to protect you.”

“That’s not the same!  He was provoked and it was obvious those men intended harm.”

“Is it any worse, then, to kill one evil person in an effort to protect many?  For something you believe in and will fight for or die trying?”  Anika swallows her barely contained tears and tries to see it from that perspective… from Connor’s perspective.  From her brother’s perspective. 

Hans had been fighting for what he had believed in, too.  Anika covers her mouth and remembers the last time she saw him during the winter between ’75 and ‘76, dressed in his best clothes and sporting the blue coat that had been issued to him by the Patriot army.  He had been so proud of that coat because not everyone could get their hands on regimental issue.  She had watched him polishing the brass buttons by the fire the night before he returned to his duties.  He had just turned eighteen a few months earlier.  The smallpox epidemic that had swept through the Patriot army shortly after his visit and then was passed on to her family and those of other soldier’s had decimated the slums of New York.   Many of the fiercest, most determined soldiers had hailed from the poorest districts.  They had embraced the ideas of freedom and independence, the tantalizing prospect of rising up from nothing giving them their greatest motivation.  Hans had promised her, his little Ani, that when the war was over their family would have their own farm with cows and horses and would be able to live off the land, no longer paying royalties to a faceless monarchy across the sea or scratching out a pitiful existence in the tiny, dirt floored hovel they called home.  As Catherine’s companion, Anika had felt lucky and proud that she could help support her family’s income, just as her big brother had.  Her good fortune had become a bitter draught to swallow when she became the sole surviving member of her family in the entire land in a matter of days.  Her family had left Germany, penniless farmers with a dream and had died in this country, no better off than when they had started. 

The old, familiar bile rises in her throat as she thinks on what Hans had sacrificed, what they all had sacrificed in the name of freedom and the hope for a better life.  She had been proud to see her brother marching off to join the ranks.  Ten years later, the loss of the big brother she had always idolized still cuts as sharply as a knife.  Anika leans into Catherine and lets her tears fall for Hans and her family.  All of them, gone in the name of freedom, killed not by firearms or blades but by an intentional act of vile ill-will perpetrated by their enemies that neither paid heed to honor, age, sex or race nor differentiated between the guilty or the innocent. 

“Hans.”  It is all she needs to say for Catherine to know that Anika understands now why Connor does what he feels he must.  Catherine holds her, caressing her back as Anika crushes a handful of her hide shirt in her fist.  “Will he ever get the peace he seeks?  Is it even possible?”  Anika whispers.

“I don’t know.  Maybe, if there's always someone fighting for it.”  Catherine pauses and then adds a further thought.  “Connor tried to stop the plague in New York.  He was there, burning the blankets that had been infected and taking the sick to get help.”  Anika raises her head, speechless.  She is nauseous at the vitriol she had felt toward the man.

“Oh, God, Cat.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I judged him so harshly!” Catherine shakes her head and smoothes back her friend’s hair with a smile. 

“You didn’t know. Shhhh. It’s alright.”  The women hug each other with renewed enthusiasm.   “Let’s get you cleaned up.  I know you’ll feel better afterwards and then you can rest.  I’m sure Connor won’t mind letting you have the bed with me.”  Anika smiles and looks away, some stubborn feelings of nervousness for who he is and what he does clinging to her heart when she thinks of him in bed with Catherine.  As she stands and starts to unbutton her dress, she wonders if they have made love as she and Sonehso:wa had.  She is startled out of her thoughts when Cat gasps.

“Your shoulder!  What happened?”  As Catherine helps her out of her corset, Anika tells her of the attack just outside Albany. Catherine is horrified by her tale and incredibly grateful that Sonehso:wa had been there to defend her and knew what to do to fix her.  Anika reaches for the bag she had carried in and digs around in it until she withdraws the small square of creamy soap bearing flecks of flower petals in its depths. Catherine grasps her hand and brings the bar to her nose.

“Soap!”  She inhales with a heavenly look on her face.  Anika laughs at the comically reverent appearance of her companion.

“Maybe you should take a bath as well.”  she suggests.  Catherine sighs and relinquishes the little piece of home to Anika.

“Tempting, but I just took a bath recently.  I make do with hot water, rosemary and lots of scrubbing. Maybe next time.” 

"Suit yourself."  Anika lays her discarded shift down on the floorboards and kneels on it to start washing.  Catherine unlaces her sleeves and rolls them up, kneels beside her and takes the cloth and soap from her hands.  She dips the cloth into the water and saturates it, letting it cool for a moment in the air while moving Anika’s hair over her shoulder before bringing it to her back.  As soon as the warmth touches her skin, Anika lowers her head with a sigh, her shoulders slouching forward.  Catherine wets her skin and then runs the bar of soap over her tired muscles, massaging away the long days of travel along with her sweat and grime.  Anika takes the soap, lifts the cloth from the edge of the pot and washes the front of her body, pausing and dropping her head from time to time when Catherine finds another tight muscle to work on.  By the time Catherine has finished washing Anika’s hair, the woman is nearly falling asleep with her arms wrapped around her bent knees and her head resting on top of them.  The air in the cave is steamy and the scent of the dried herbs hanging from the shelves mixed with the potpourri of the floral soap is heady and relaxing.

“I’ve missed this, Cat.”  Anika sighs.  

“Me too.”  Catherine agrees. She wrings out the last drops of the now tepid water from Anika's hair and gently rakes her fingers through the long, damp locks, untangling the snarls and smoothing it into a dark, honey colored swath over her back.  Gathering up the length of it and dividing it into three sections, she braids it into a long rope.With a sigh, Anika unwinds her arms and reaches for the bag once again.  Catherine takes Anika’s dress and shift and drops them into the remaining water in the pot, scrubbing them together with a little of the soap.   

“Mrs. Young from Albany gave me some of her daughter’s clothes.  The dresses would probably fit you better but the shifts are loose enough.  I know there are a couple in here.”  She pulls one of the thickly woven winter ones free and gathers it up to drop over her head.  It covers her modestly enough but Anika frets with the neckline, pulling it up higher.  Catherine wrings out the clothing and drapes it over the chest to dry, cracks the supply room door open and peeks her head out.  The men are sitting in front of the fire so she opens the door wider and snatches the top blanket from the bed.  Bringing it to Anika, she drapes it over her, flipping an end over her shoulder so it covers her modestly yet falls gracefully from her and leaves her arms free. 

They exit together and Sonehso:wa and Connor move to the sides so the women can sit next to each other in between them.  They split what remains of the provisions Sonehso:wa and Anika had obtained from Isaac and share a pot of cooked grains.  In the wake of all that had been spoken, the small group finds that quiet is a more appealing state to be in.  The awkward tension that had abounded earlier is gone and Anika makes eye contact with Connor, offering him an apologetic smile.  He is surprised at her sudden change but he nods at her with a smile of his own, a tacit understanding passing between them.  Not knowing what was said between the two women behind the closed door of the supply room, he finds himself feeling indebted to Catherine’s defense and grateful for Anika’s understanding.

Having bathed and eaten, Anika grows increasingly tired as they sit together in the dark cabin, the only light being the low flames of the fireplace.  She covers a yawn and Catherine follows suit, succumbing to the contagious nature of yawns. 

“It has been an eventful day.  I am feeling the effects of it myself.”  Connor says to the women.  Sonehso:wa snorts.

“You are just getting old, brother.”  He remarks from a safe distance away on the other side of the women.  Connor closes his eyes and heaves out a long, slow breath, shaking his head and tapping his fingers against his knee in a show of controlling his irritation.  Anika looks at Sonehso:wa with worry on her face.

“That was unkind!”  she says.  Catherine bursts out laughing at Anika’s concern.

“This is how they always are!”  she exclaims, barely containing her mirth.  Connor leans forward and points his finger at Sonehso:wa threateningly.

“Listen to Anika; she is wiser than you.  I am your elder.  You should respect me.” Sonehso:wa scoffs at Connor’s directive.

“I will respect you when you are dried up and wrinkled with more grandchildren than me.  Until then…” he shrugs his shoulders and laughs.  Anika is starting to enjoy their banter but knowing Sonehso:wa’s nature, she suspects it could go on for as long as he has an audience.  Catherine raises a hand to her forehead.  She groans as the men continue to exchange insults. 

“Come on, Cat.  We'll leave them to their game.  It seems they wish to catch up on lost time.”  Anika says with a smile. Catherine stands with her friend and the men cut off their fun to say good night, standing as well.  Catherine and Connor move closer to the door and Connor touches her elbow.

“I wish I could have told you all of that in private.  I only kept it from you because I did not want to burden you with my responsibilities just yet.  Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.  You carry a heavy load on these shoulders,"  She reaches up and places her left hand on his right shoulder with her forearm resting on his chest. "I understand your need to shield me from worry.”   Connor sighs and wonders how she can be so empathetic to him.  Another woman might not be so understanding.

“I would kiss you if I could be sure Anika would not kill me for it.”  His lips stretch into one of his rare smiles, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“She wouldn’t kill you.  But maybe we should be polite and wait a while.”  Catherine says softly.  Connor nods in agreement and Catherine moves her hand from his shoulder to the side of his jaw for just a moment, trailing her fingers off his chin as she backs away.  Her touch is every bit as intimate as a kiss and Connor has to restrain his urge to grab her hand and pull her back to him, recalling their dalliance that morning with frustrated regret that they had not been able to continue.

As Catherine leaves Connor where he stands by the door, she sees Sonehso:wa watching Anika walk toward the back of the cabin.  His usual bravado and sarcasm are cast aside, leaving his face open with blatant adoration.  The instant he notices Catherine, the mask goes back in place and an impish grin splits his face.  She simply gives him a look that clearly tells him she knows his weakness.  He narrows his eyes at her and it is Catherine’s turn to smirk. 

When Anika climbs into the bed and lies down, she can’t hold back her sigh of comfort.  It has been a long time since she has laid in a real bed with a real straw mattress and a real feather pillow.  The cabin is warm from the fire and she quickly grows warmer under the blankets.   Turning on her side, she smiles at Catherine lying beside her though lids already heavy with sleep.  It is almost like before- before Francisco and Sergio, before Catherine’s father was sick.  There was a time when life was simple and uncomplicated and she and Catherine would divulge their deepest secrets and wishes to each other every night, unafraid of the future.  Anika's eyes close and her exhaustion prevents her from opening them again.  Somewhere in the distance, Catherine’s whispered goodnight reaches her ears but only a soft noise escapes her before sleep carries her off completely.  She doesn't feel when Catherine pulls the blanket up onto her a little higher and kisses her cheek softly.

Catherine wakes in the morning to the sounds of the two men gearing up and leaving to hunt.  Connor is determined to get a fresh kill and his lack of success has made him restless.  The sun is barely rising outside the windows but the cloudless sky and lack of heavy mist promise a nice day with lots of sunshine. Perhaps today will be the day for Connor. A dull ache in Catherine’s low back makes her roll onto her side and curl her legs up.  Anika is facing her, still deeply asleep with her braid bent over her shoulder, framing one side of her face.  Her features are softened by her slumber, making her appear even younger than she is.  Catherine wonders how long it has been since she has slept so comfortably, for the woman hasn't moved from the position she lay down in the evening before.  

Unable to get comfortable enough to fall back to sleep, Catherine rises and makes herself some tea.  While it steeps she quietly goes to the supply room and sorts through Connor’s collected furs and hides, selecting the appropriate types to make Anika some practical garments.  While she sips her tea, she drafts out the designs on the hide with a bit of cold ash, thinking it might be nice to make something a little fancier for her since she has more experience with working this type of material now.  Adding in allowances for attractive princess seams, Catherine smiles as she pictures the final product.  On a corner of the hide outside her pattern drawings, she practices some flower shaped stitches with the lacing to decorate the neckline.  They are not as refined a design as she can achieve with a traditional needle and thread but it still lends an air of femininity that is sorely lacking from the sturdier look and feel of hide clothing.

Behind her, Anika stirs and rolls over with a sigh.  She moves around a few more times before getting up and joining Catherine near the fireplace. 

“Where did they go?” she asks, yawning.

“Hunting.  Connor hasn’t been very successful lately and we’re both getting a little tired of the smoked meat we’ve been eating.”  Anika pulls her braid over her shoulder and starts to unwind it.  Her hair holds the shape of the plait, hanging in waves down her back from just below her head.

“Sonehso:wa will be happy to get something too.  His injuries kept him from it for a few days after we left Albany and he hated it.  He always looked so apologetic when he would come back to me empty handed, as if I would judge him for it.  I tried to tell him I didn't mind but he wouldn’t hear it.  I know the men in his tribe are the hunters and protectors while the women are the food cultivators and family caretakers, but he was really taking it hard.”  Catherine makes a cup of tea for Anika and another for herself.  She lifts the corner of the hide on her lap that now has several variations of flowers embroidered on it and shows the patterns to Anika.

“I’ve started working on a design for some clothes for you.  Then you won’t be stuck in dresses out here.  It’s so much easier to get around when there aren’t any skirts tangling around your legs.”  Anika appears scandalized but then has Catherine stand up so she can look at her clothes more closely.  She reaches out her hand and pulls on Catherine’s pant leg experimentally. 

“You like wearing these things?”

“Yes!  I originally decided to make pants when Connor said he would teach me how to shoot his bow but they’re so comfortable I can’t imagine going back to wearing long skirts…”  She trails off as Anika starts laughing.

“Shooting a bow?  Wearing pants?  Cat, you’re such a _man_!  Though I must admit that I would've loved to have had your outlandish divided skirts for our trip… but still… you should have been born a boy with all your unladylike pastimes!”  She leans back on her arm, laughing and Catherine jabs her leg with her toes, her hands defiantly on her hips.

“I’m good at it, you know.  Not as good as Connor but I’m getting better every time I practice.  When they come back I’ll prove it.  He’s teaching me all his weapons.  The only thing I haven’t tried is a gun but I don’t think I want to.”

“Sonehso:wa told me you threw that tomahawk at him.  Oh Cat, what am I going to do with you?  You’re turning into a wild woman!”  Anika laughs heartily but Catherine huffs before returns to her place on the shaggy bear hide.

“I'll have you know, I still have some refinements left.  Like sewing.  Francisco may not have let me do it but Connor encourages me to.”  Catherine throws the embroidered deerhide onto Anika and she falls onto her side holding her hands over her mouth to contain her shaking mirth.  In a final gesture of her irritation, Catherine gives Anika a smack on her backside where it sticks out from under the hide.  A scream of laughter comes from Anika as she fails to hold in her glee any longer.  Catherine can’t help her own creeping amusement at how ridiculous they must look. Her realization that she doesn’t care anymore only makes it easier to laugh about it.  There is no one here to see their break from ladylike decorum and even if Connor and Sonehso:wa were present, all they would do is encourage it.  Catherine's laughter joins Anika's.

At last, Anika lifts the hide off of her and sits up when she manages to regain some control of herself. 

“Fine, then, let’s make me into a wild woman as well.  I’m sure Sonehso:wa will be happy to see me not wearing my corset.  He hates it.  You should have seen his face when I put it back on.  He looked like he'd taken a bite of a spoiled apple.”  She turns her lips inward and frowns, raising her hands out in front of her body and deepening her voice to mock him.

“Jitkwa:’e, I do not like that thing you wear.”  Catherine laughs at her imitation until she realizes the implications of what Anika just said.

“Wait just one minute!  He’s seen you in just your shift?”  Anika sobers somewhat but does not appear ashamed.

“He’s seen me naked, Cat. We’re lovers.” She's speaks calmly.  

“I saw you two kissing last night but I didn’t think it had gone farther.”  A faraway look comes into Catherine’s eyes and she stares into the fireplace, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows.  “Did it hurt?” she speaks softly and with a shudder, remembering only the pain of her experiences.

“No… well, a little in the beginning the first time and I bled a bit but he was gentle with me.  It wasn’t like what Francisco did to you.  I felt pleasure from it... and each time afterwards was better than I ever imagined it could be.”  Her face is serious and she puts her hand on Catherine’s arm.  “Have you and Ratonhnhake:ton…”

“No. Yesterday, before you came, we were… being intimate but it never got past kissing and touching.  I want to, I really think I do, and I know he wants it even more but when he was above me I suddenly became afraid.  All I could see were my attackers, their horrible faces, the pain, their hate and cruelty.  Connor moved away when he saw my fear.  He’s so afraid of hurting me and I’m beginning to doubt I’ll ever escape what happened to me.  The memories keep coming back and preventing me from just _letting_ him.”  Catherine bows her head and Anika loops her arm through hers consolingly.

“Oh, my dearest.  If he loves you as you say he does he’ll wait until you’re ready and he won’t hurt you at all.”

“But it’s not fair to him.  He’s wanted me for a long time yet he holds back for my sake.”

“As he should, Cat!  You were raped!  No one recovers from something like that and doesn't have memories left behind... like scars.”  Catherine turns her head away from Anika and lets out a harsh exhale, tasting the acidic truth of her statement.

“That’s quite an understatement in my case.  I should be grateful he wants me at all.”

“What can you possibly mean by that?”  Anika asks, feeling oddly apprehensive for Catherine's tone.  Catherine turns her back to Anika and pulls off both of her shirts at once, exposing her scarred back to Anika.  From the sounds Anika makes, Catherine knows she is appalled by what she sees.  Her warm fingers touch her back, tracing the broken line of the largest scar from her shoulder down to her hip.  "Oh... Cat..." 

“Connor says it’s not as bad as he was afraid it would be when he first found me but he says I’ll probably be scarred for the rest of my life.”

“I think you will be, too.”  Anika whispers.  She removes her hand from the shiny, pink, raised line that crosses Catherine’s back and takes in the scattering of smaller, diagonal scars that surround the gigantic one.  “Maybe with time they'll blend in with your skin better.  There’s the middle that’s raised up more but even that might go away.”  Anika touches the two portions of the large scar on either side of Catherine’s spine where the whip had cut the deepest, slashing through her skin and into her muscles beneath.   When Catherine raises her arms to put her shirts back on, the scars move differently from the rest of her skin, wrinkling oddly.   Anika sighs and tries to give words of comfort but Catherine has already moved on from her injuries.  "I don’t know what to say.  You’re a strong woman.  I don’t think I could have had the will to survive like you did.” 

Catherine does not have the heart to tell Anika about her suicide attempt.  It would serve no positive purpose.

“Connor did much to help me through it.  He never accepted it when I felt as if I were corrupted and ruined.  He treats me as if I’m the purest of innocent virgins.”  Her cynical laugh shocks Anika.  Though much of Catherine is the same, facets of her are decidedly changed.  Anika chooses to look past that in favor of being content that her friend is alive.  _No life would ever be the same after such traumatic events_ , she muses, _including my own_. 

For several hours, the women work with the deerhide.  They accomplish much more together than Catherine had been able to on her own and by early afternoon they are strolling outside.  All the snow has been gone for quite some time now and the temperature is warmer than average for late March.  Catherine leaves her buttons undone on her jacket and they both enjoy the coolness of the breeze on their faces.  It feels like spring is coming.  The air smells of earth and mulching leaves.  The only damper on the day for Catherine is that her back aches terribly.  All the kneeling and leaning forward to work hadn't helped the problem.  The longer they had worked, the worse it had gotten.  It was a relief to stand up and walk around but the ache will not fade.

As they walk, Catherine tells Anika about the purpose of the bridges and even hops up on one and walks across it.  Anika holds her shawl around her shoulders and looks down at her legs as they continue on their walk.  She admits that pants are surprisingly more comfortable than skirts and warmer, too.  Catherine had even gotten her way with adding designs to Anika’s clothing, a swath of embroidered flowers and vines following her neckline and then running down the sides of her legs.  Anika’s pants cover her black leather boots that button tightly over her ankles, unlike Catherine’s, which are tucked inside her bulky fur boots.  The women wander down the path and spend time by the swollen river's edge, watching the occasional leaf be carried by on the surface.  The water is deceptively calm and soothing once past the tumult of the falls and its power is hidden beneath the smooth, wavy flow.

Returning to the cabin, they catch a glimpse of Connor and Sonehso:wa walking through the trees carrying a large buck between them.  Sonehso:wa shouts a greeting cheerfully and raises his arm to them. It isn't long before the men deposit their kill by the cliff edge and prepare to skin and gut the carcass.  They remove their bows and place them against the cabin. Catherine remembers the last time they worked by the porch, that fateful day when poor Sonehso:wa had almost gotten hit with a tomahawk.   Seeing Connor's bow in the shady section of the porch makes her want to prove her skill in archery to Anika so she walks over and picks it up.  Connor looks at her with interested confusion.  Sonehso:wa just looks amused, as usual.  Anika crosses her arms as she approaches and glances at Sonehso:wa.  He shrugs his shoulders at her.

Sonehso:wa finds Anika's new clothing to be appealing and cannot wait to tell her how much he likes it.  Better yet, he wants to show her how much by taking them off of her.  With her hair blowing around her, he finds it difficult to have any interest in why Catherine has taken a bow in her hands.  The weapon is far too big for her anyway. Sonehso:wa smiles when Anika sets her feet wider apart and looks challengingly at Catherine.

Catherine strides over behind Connor where he is crouched with his back to the cabin and pulls an arrow from the quiver still strapped to his back.  He looks up at her and cocks an eyebrow.  Catherine just kisses in his direction so Connor shakes his head and goes back to his task, knowing she wants to show off.  He feigns disinterest but turns his head enough to watch what she does.  Catherine addresses Anika.

“Do you see that piece of hide nailed to the tree over there?”  She points with the bow toward a tree.  Anika nods and out of the corner of Catherine’s eye, she sees that Sonehso:wa has stopped working to watch.  Connor’s head is bent studiously to the carcass but his hands are not moving.  She leans her knee against his back and his muscles shake as he represses a silent laugh.   “I will hit it with an arrow.” 

“I’m breathless with excitement.”  Anika’s voice drips with sarcasm and Sonehso:wa barks out a laugh.  Catherine nocks the arrow and aims, pulling the string back with her right hand.  She releases and the arrow sinks into the tree a foot above the target.  Catherine scoffs in irritation.  She is never that inaccurate from such a short distance.  Anika gasps and clasps her hands.

“Cat!  I didn’t believe you could even shoot that thing but you proved me wrong!”  Her enthusiasm is genuine.

“You missed.”  Connor’s monotone words are laced with amusement so Catherine jerks on the quiver and almost unbalances him as she takes another arrow. 

“I know.”  Her voice is low.

“She was close!”  Anika is quick to defend Cat.  Connor shrugs his shoulders.

“She still missed.  'Close' does not bring home food to a hungry family.”  Anika scowls at him and Sonehso:wa speaks up.

“Brother… the draw on that bow is heavy.  Why are you being so hard on her?”   Catherine interrupts before Connor can answer. 

“Because I can do it.  He’s seen me.”   She aims for her target once again.  The arrow hits the tree just outside the hide and Catherine makes an angry noise in her throat.  She snatches a third arrow and Connor sits up straighter to watch.  It hits the very center of the piece of hide and Catherine smiles. 

“Bravo!” Anika claps her hands excitedly but Catherine takes up a fourth arrow, wanting to prove that it is not just a fluke that she sent her arrow true.  This time she is sure of the path her arrow will take and it lands just beside the last. 

“Now that one, by the cliff.”  Catherine calls out, her determination and need to prove herself making her voice loud and tight.  Taking up a fifth arrow, she draws back farther, aiming carefully and thinking about the arc of the arrow.  She pulls back just a tiny bit more and adjusts her aim.  The arrow hits just left of center in her target.  Smiling with pride, she walks to the porch and rests Connor’s bow beside Sonehso:wa’s.  As she sets the bow down, the sun falls across it and Catherine stops.  She compares the two bows, realizing she had taken Sonehso:wa’s bow by accident.  It is very similarly designed to Connor’s, only his colored accents around the wood are a dark orange, not red.  _No wonder my aim suffered!_   She spins around and Connor is smiling at her.  He had known all along. 

“I didn’t know I'd taken your bow, Sonehso:wa.  I’m usually a better mark with Connor’s.”  Sonehso:wa nods with respect.

“It is difficult to shoot another man’s bow accurately without practice.  Every bow is different.  You did well.”  He smiles proudly at her.  

"I have an excellent tutor!"  Catherine says with a smile at Connor.  

Anika gives Catherine a hug.

“I was impressed after your first shot.  But your others were even better!  Maybe Sonehso:wa will teach me how to shoot someday…”  she looks over at him suggestively and he spreads his bloodied hands palm up, his hunting knife he had been using to butcher the deer balanced across one palm.  He is smiling widely.

“Whatever you want, Jitkwa:’e," he says charmingly.  

Catherine starts walking over to the trees to retrieve the arrows and Anika joins her.

“I knew you'd want to learn, Ani!  You always do that!”

“Do what?”

“Make fun of me and then join me.”

“When have I done that?”  Anika laughs innocently, knowing she is guilty of it.

“Riding horses.  Drinking.  I can go on…” 

“Please, spare me!”  They laugh together and a brief spasm of pain jabs low in Catherine’s stomach.  It makes her cut her laughter short.  Anika turns her head toward her but they have reached the first tree and Catherine reaches up to grasp the highest arrow.  She pulls it free with a quick tug and hands it to Anika.  The second one is harder to get out but she braces her other hand against the trunk for leverage.  She tugs it out, along with the first of the two in the center.  When Catherine closes her fingers around the last arrow in the tree, a second stab of pain sears through her abdomen.  She cries out, pressing her free hand to her stomach.  The pain doesn’t fade; it only rises in intensity and she drops to her knees with a breathless, silent scream, the arrow snapping off in her hand. 

“Cat!  Cat!  What’s wrong?”  Catherine can’t answer.  Both of her hands are over her stomach and she clenches the broken arrow in her fist.  Her body buckles forward and she rests her shoulder against the tree trunk, her head hanging down. “ _Cat!_ ”  Anika screams and as the pain fades slightly, Catherine becomes aware of hands on her shoulders.  She hears footsteps running and suddenly Connor is beside her.

“What is wrong?  Tell me!”  he demands.  Catherine winces as Connor pulls her away from the tree and lays her on the ground.  He kneels by her side and moves her hands off of her stomach, taking the arrow from her grip and casting it aside without even looking at it.  He searches for an injury, lifting her shirt up to expose her stomach and finding nothing.  Anika answers Connor while he examines her.

“I don’t know!  She was pulling the arrows out and then she was holding her stomach in pain.  Oh, Cat!”  she drops to her knees on the other side of Catherine with her hands covering her mouth.  Catherine gasps and brings her hands back over her stomach as soon as Connor moves his away.

“It’s the baby…  I think it’s leaving me.”  She speaks through clenched teeth as another powerful wave of cramping twists inside her, making her curl her body involuntarily and try not to scream. 

Connor is incapacitated.  Catherine looks like she is being eviscerated.  He scoops her up in his arms and holds her against his chest, looking up at Anika.  His eyes are wild with fear.

“Can we stop it?  What can we do?”  he frantically asks.  Anika shakes her head solemnly at him and he lowers his face to look at Catherine.  “There must be something we can do!”

“It just has to run its course," are Anika's only words.  Catherine’s body relaxes slightly in Connor's arms and she sucks in air like a drowning person.  She opens her eyes and Connor almost whimpers.

“It’s better this way," she whispers to him, raising one of her hands and touching his neck. Connor shakes his head and his face contorts as Catherine rests the side of her forehead against his chest, closing her eyes.

Anika doesn’t know what to do.  Sonehso:wa is as silent as stone as he watches the scene unfold.  He touches Anika’s shoulder and finally speaks.

“We need to get her inside and make her comfortable."  Sonehso:wa's suggestion helps.  Without a word, Connor stands with Catherine in his arms and moves toward the cabin, his eyes never leaving her face.  Movement seems to awaken Anika’s senses and as she gets to her feet and stumbles toward the cabin in Connor's wake, she tries to recall what little she has heard about babies and pregnancy and when things go wrong.  Sonehso:wa holds the door open and Connor ducks inside with Catherine held snugly to his chest.  He lowers her gently to the floor in front of the dead fire and moves until he is holding her up against him, his legs on either side of her.  Tears run down Catherine's ashen face as she tries to hold in her pain with her hands clawed over her stomach.  Connor lowers his hands until they are over hers and whispers into her hair as she arches her back and rides out another wave of agony, unable to stop the painful cries that at last escape her.  Anika faces Sonehso:wa where he has receded against the door.

“I need to get some water boiling and then I'll need rags.  Lots of them.”  Her thoughts continue beyond her spoken words.  _This will be a messy, bloody affair._   Anika is afraid for Catherine.  Women have taken ill and died from miscarriage.  _If I lose Cat now, after finally getting her back…_  Anika refuses to accept that as an option.  Sonehso:wa retrieves the large pot from the storage room and dumps it out over the railing of the porch.  He fills it at the small stream by the cliff and returns after several minutes.  Stoking the fire and loading the fireplace with wood far beyond what is necessary, he shoves the pot halfway into the flames, sloshing water onto the hearthstones.  Anika enters the supply room, scanning the shelves for what she can use.  A ripped bit of fabric catches her eye and she reaches up to a top shelf and pulls it down.  It falls from her hands onto the floor and when she lifts it, it is a torn and stained item, only barely distinguishable as a shift but Anika recognizes it as Catherine’s.  _Dear Lord, is this what she was wearing when Ratonhnhake:ton found her?_  

Back in the cabin, Catherine’s head is lolling against Connor’s right shoulder and he strokes her face with his left hand.  His right hand is spread over her stomach in a protective pose.  Catherine's arms hang loosely over the sides of his legs, the backs of her hands resting on the floor, and she looks dead until Connor bends his neck and whispers to her.  She nods slightly and swallows, taking a deep breath.  He looks up at Anika and the fear in his eyes almost knocks her backwards.

“I need to cut this up.”  She whispers, holding up the tattered shift.  Sonehso:wa reaches to the sheath on his chest, only to find it empty.  He silently opens the door and retrieves his knife from where he left it next to the deer.  Anika takes it from him and drops to her knees next to the hearth, slashing at the thin fabric with a desperate grip on the knife in her fist.  Cat only has one more intense episode of pain while Anika works before she falls back against Connor, the tracks of her tears shining wetly on her cheeks.  Gathering her courage, Anika faces Connor.  _He won’t like what I'm to ask of him._

“I can take her now.  It would be best if you and Sonehso:wa leave for the rest of this.”  Connor raises his head and looks at her silently for a long time. 

“I will not leave her.” he at last says.  His voice is flat and Anika fights her instinct to bow to his authoritative answer. _I'm no longer a servant and Ratonhnhake:ton was never my master_.  Anika steels her voice and hardens her face.

“You will. I’ll call for you if I need help…” _or if the unthinkable happens_ , Anika thinks.  Connor clenches his jaw stubbornly.  His entire body stiffens and his arms tighten protectively around Catherine.  She opens her eyes and brings her hand up to his arm, her voice soft yet constricted. 

“I’ll be fine.  Do as she says, please.”  The muscles in Connor's neck and jaw tighten and relax rhythmically as he weighs her words. 

“If you promise me you will not die, I will do it.”  A soft laugh that sounds more like a moan comes from Catherine and her voice fades to a whisper.

“I promise I won’t die from this.  It’s only pain.”  In response, Connor sighs, reluctantly acquiescing to Catherine's wishes.  Anika moves to Connor’s side and he looks sharply at her, as if she is a robber about to steal his most valued possession and cast it into the sea.  He moves backwards, supporting Catherine with his hands and letting Anika help him lower her onto the floor.  With no concern for propriety, for it is beyond what matters now, he leans forward and kisses Catherine on her mouth from where he kneels above her head.  She opens her eyes and raises her arms up to him, sliding the fingers of one hand into his hair and clutching his shirt in the other.  Connor only stops kissing her when Catherine pushes against his shoulder.  He leaves her lips but remains hovering over her, his face barely separated from Catherine's.  His braid dangles from his head, brushing against the skin of his cheekbone so Catherine smiles and tucks it behind his ear. 

“How does this thing not drive you crazy?”  she asks.  Connor takes her hand in his. 

“I am used to it.”  His forced smile falters and he untucks his legs as if he wants to lie beside her.  Sonehso:wa steps close and bends to put his hand on his shoulder.  Connor flinches away at the touch, getting to his feet without any grace and reluctantly moving toward the door.  Sonehso:wa follows him out but as Catherine draws in her breath suddenly from another burst of pain, Connor turns back.  Sonehso:wa raises his left forearm and presses it against Connor's chest, leaning all of his weight against him to drive him outside.  Anika shuts the door firmly behind them.  Connor knocks his friend’s arm from his chest and paces across the porch, staring out at the falls.  He has felt fear before, many times, but only one other time has he felt so incredibly helpless as this.  When he was a young boy and he watched his mother dying he had felt as if his world were ending, just as it does now.  If he had been a man, stronger, he could have saved her.  Now his strength is greater than most and yet still he can do nothing to save Catherine and he is left standing useless as he waits for it to end one way or another.

Once the men are gone and the pain has faded to a dull ache again, Catherine looks at Anika. 

“I’m bleeding.”  Anika helps Catherine take off her jacket and her outer shirt, tossing them over by the window to get them out of the way.  Her boots come off next. Anika shakes out the mat that is being used to protect the floor from wet boots and brings it over to her, dragging the bear hide out from under her hips and replacing it with the old, worn hide.  Catherine helps her by lifting her hips and untying the laces of her pants. When Anika pulls them off they are filled with dark, clotted blood.  The amount of it is obscene and Anika works at keeping her face smooth and serene.  She reaches for one of the cut up pieces of fabric piled on the hearth and dips it into the cool water in the pot on the fire.  It hasn't had time to heat but Anika refuses to wait.  She gently swabs the wet rag between Catherine's legs.  It seems to only push the blood around and more comes from Catherine to take its place.   The rag becomes saturated quickly and Anika drops it onto the hide and takes another.  Eventually, as the collection of sanguineous rags grows, the bleeding seems to abate so she changes her focus to cleaning off the skin of Catherine's legs and buttocks.

Catherine pushes herself to a seated position and a wave of dizziness almost makes her fall backwards.  A new rush of blood leaves her body, pooling on the hide and running into the heap of bloody rags between her legs.  It is then that her emotions finally overtake her.  Memories of wanting to fall off the cliff into the tumultuous waters below make her shake.  If she had known that it would all end just a few weeks later she never would have thought about it.  Despite believing that with Connor’s acceptance of this baby everything would turn out well in the end, she had feared its arrival daily.  Always, it was in the back of her mind, a creeping doubt that hid itself behind false bravery and her love for Connor, darting out to haunt her dreams and the darkest corners of her thoughts when she least expected it or of she was idle for too long.  Anika’s hands are smeared with her blood and the sight of it is too much.  Her lips quiver and tears roll down her cheeks.

“Cat, you’ll be alright.  It stopped for a while.  You need to lay still.”  Anika soothes her.  Catherine shakes her head, her words broken by sobs and gasping breaths.

“It’s not that.  I’m relieved.  I’m so relieved!  I convinced myself-- that it would all turn out fine-- because Connor wanted it.  God, he wanted to be its-- father and I still don’t fully understand --how he accepted it so easily.  I wanted to kill myself when I first realized-- I was pregnant. I tried.  I was going to jump but Connor stopped me.”  Catherine gestures toward the window facing the waterfall.  Anika raises her head from her task and rests her arm on Catherine’s knee.  Her eyes are so wide Catherine can see the entire circle of her bright green irises.  She speaks slowly.

“Oh my dear....  My poor dear!  I'm more indebted to him than ever for saving you.  He kept you safe... and kept his word.  I can never thank him enough for saving you.  I love you and I'd have never survived if you were gone from me again.” 

"I love you too, Ani!"  Catherine can express nothing else.   Tears run down her face as the two women face each other, sharing in the other's affection.  Catherine's arms shake from blood loss and the effort of holding herself up.  She flops backward onto the floor, covering her face and letting the tears pour from her.  Anika kisses her knee and then continues on with her gristly task.  Catherine is lost in her mind.   _In a way, should I not be grateful for this pregnancy?  Didn’t it help me see the depth of Connor’s love for me?_ He had promised to raise the child as his own, to love it as its father, because it meant being with her.  He had seemed genuinely happy when she had agreed to it and the way he touched her stomach… as if he were trying to hold the unborn child in his hands… to hold it inside her.  She wonders what he’s thinking and feeling at this moment.  Knowing how deeply his emotions run, a fathomless well of raw, elemental passion that burns and freezes, howls and whispers, claws and caresses, she fears the ruin of his very soul. 

Connor alternates between pacing the porch and leaning on the railing, his shoulders hunched and his hands balling into fists or hanging slack by his sides.  Sonehso:wa knows it would be a short fight between them if he really wanted to get back inside but he stands vigilant by the doorway nonetheless.  As time passes, Connor becomes even more agitated and he steps off the porch and starts to walk down toward the trail.  Suddenly spinning on his heels, he sprints back to the cabin, a look of ragged fear on his face.  Sonehso:wa leaves his post, dragging the chair from the other side of the chimney to place it in front of the door.  It will buy him one extra second of time to stop Connor if he tries to go in.  He moves to the deer they had caught and works on finishing the butchering they had started, using Connor’s knife and laying the cuts of meat on the skin beside him.  Connor sits in the chair and rests his elbows on top of his knees, holding his head in his hands and being still for the first time in over an hour.  Sonehso:wa’s eyes flick upward at him from time to time to make sure he has not moved. 

When Anika opens the door, Connor leaps to his feet, knocking the chair aside.  His eyes lock onto Catherine’s form where she lies in bed.  Anika steps aside and he moves past her silently, almost as if he is afraid a single sound from him will cause everything to come crashing down around him.  When he arrives at the bed he crouches down and reaches a hand toward Catherine.  The moment he touches her face, she opens her eyes and Connor breathes out, falling to his knees beside the bed.  The same blue-grey color that never fails to pull him in looks back at him but the woman they belong to is different.  A pain suffuses her expression and covers her like an invisible web, even in the deepest part of her eyes.  It is not a physical pain but an emotional one, something he has seen in her eyes before.  He saw it when he first found her and had her arms in his hands as she struggled to hit him with his tomahawk.  He saw it after he told her what he learned about her father in law at the cabin.  He saw it when she tried to kill herself.  It is something so dark that his eyes want to slide over it, past it or through it.  It is a thing that does not want to be seen and it hurts when he tries to force his eyes to stay fixed upon it.  When Catherine opens her mouth to speak, her words are unexpected.

“I’m so sorry.  I’m a failure.”  Connor shakes his head and reaches under the blankets to find her hand.

“No, do not say that.  It is not true."

“But it _is_ true!  I've failed _you_.  You wanted to be a father and I took that away from you.  It's my fault for not wanting it enough…”

“Shhh.  You are wrong, WildCat. It is not your fault.  My concern is for you right now.”  Connor squeezes Catherine's fingers for emphasis to his statement and then leans forward to kiss her, stroking her hair at the crown of her head.   When he pulls back, he sees less of the bleakness that had darkened her gaze so drastically. “How is your pain?  Does it still hurt?”

“Only a little.  It comes and goes but the worst is definitely over.  Will you make me some of that tea you made when you first found me?”  Connor nods and starts to rise to his feet but Catherine tightens her grip on his hand. 

“Not yet.  I meant later.  Right now I want you to stay here, with me.”  She reaches her hand out from under the blankets and Connor leans close, taking her in his arms as gently as if she is a breakable thing of wonder.  She holds him tightly until her sleepiness begins to loosen her muscles.  Connor settles back to a crouch beside the bed and lightly strokes her face and neck until her eyes close and she is breathing deeply. Only when he is sure she is asleep does he get to his feet and prepare the herbs for the tea, bringing the mortar and a mug to the chair by the bed, ready for hot water when she wakes. 

Outside the cabin, Anika shuts the door and moves a rolled up hide from behind her back.  She drops it on the porch floor, for it suddenly feels as if it weighs a thousand pounds. Connor’s face had startled her when she had opened the door.  He seemed to have aged ten years in an hour.  Anika feels much the same.  She picks up the chair, rights it, and slumps into it, exhausted.  Sonehso:wa is by her side in an instant. 

“Will she survive?” he asks.  Anika raises her head and nods. 

“Yes, I believe so.  It seems the worst is past.  She’s weak and needs to rest now.”  She gestures to the rolled up hide at her feet.  “We should get rid of that before Ratonhnhake:ton sees it.  There was a lot of blood...”  Sonehso:wa stares at it with a strange, horrified reverence on his face. 

“I will take it into the woods and bury it.  Will you come with me and say some words for the spirit of the baby?”  Anika nods wearily and picks up the rolled up hide while Sonehso:wa takes the shovel from its place against the side of the cabin. Together they walk through the woods to a sunny spot near a large stone that is half buried in an upright fashion in the ground. 

“This is where Ratonhnhake:ton buried the man who built the cabin. Would Cat find it wrong to bury her baby here?”

“I don’t think so.  It’s just bloody rags and an old hide.  There’s no body to bury.”  She can't help the frustration in her voice.

“There was still a life in her.  We must show honor to the spirit of it however we are able.”  he says somberly.  

"Very well."  Anika lowers her head and looks at the grave in the trees.  She walks to a place several feet away and taps a sunny patch of ground with the toe of her boot.  “Here, then.  Far enough away so it doesn't appear to be related to the other grave.” 

Sonehso:wa starts to dig and Anika stands to the side, respectful of his solemn work.  When the hole is quite deep and Sonehso:wa has excavated several rocks with the dirt, he reaches his hands out to Anika.  She picks up the hide, hands it to him and watches as he carefully places it in the bottom of the hole.  He murmurs some words in his language and gestures over the roll.  When he finishes, he looks expectantly at Anika.  She kneels beside him and, lacking any other ideas of what to do, prays quietly in German, refraining from using the typical prayers of Christianity and instead using personal words from her heart and sending them into the heavens.  She wonders if what she says is sacrilegious or not, since the baby was never born or baptized into any religion, but somehow it feels more appropriate to beg God to bring Catherine peace and to remember the lost soul of the child with mercy than to recite anything from memory.

Sonehso:wa fills in the hole and stacks the rocks over the mounded dirt, pressing them down carefully.  When he is done he moves to Anika’s side and she takes his dusty hand in hers for the walk back to the cabin.  

Only once Sonehso:wa and Anika return does Connor leave Catherine’s side to prepare the smoker.  Anika promises to come tell him the moment she stirs.  He and Sonehso:wa fill it and get the fire going.  They speak together as they work.

“We buried some things that held the remnants of the child in them out in the woods.  I spoke the words to aid it on its journey from this world and Anika said some things in her tongue to her spirits as well.”  Connor stops working and watches the flames silently for some time.  At last, he speaks quietly.

“Thank you, my brother. I am grateful for that.  I will go there now.”  He moves into the woods, leaving Sonehso:wa alone by the smoker as the sun slowly starts to set.

 

Catherine wakes to the smell of fresh meat cooking.  For a brief moment, it reminds her of the smell of the blood that had left her body earlier and her stomach clenches in nausea but it soon passes when it also brings with it the scent of herbs, cooking grains and smoking fat.  She opens her eyes and Connor is sitting in the chair beside the bed, holding a mug in his hands that sends curls of steam up into the air.  She sits up and her arms remind her of how weak she feels.  Connor’s concerned watchfulness is comforting and she takes the mug from him with her hands over his, lingering as long as she can to maintain contact with him.  Anika comes over with two plates of food a short time later, giving one to Connor and one to Catherine. 

“Thank you, Anika, for what you have done.  You are very kind.”  Connor says.  He levels his eyes at her and she takes his greater meaning to heart, knowing it is not just in regards to the food she brought them.  She smiles at him and bows her head, returning to Sonehso:wa knowing Connor will tell Catherine what they did earlier when the time is right. 

“He loves her, doesn’t he?”  Catherine asks Connor when the quiet sounds of Anika and Sonehso:wa’s conversation trickle back to them. 

“He does.  I am surprised to see him this way.  He used to enjoy chasing after pretty women as often as they would take notice of him… which was often.  It seems Anika has managed to snare him for herself.” 

“From what she's told me, it was her hair that first caught him.”  As if he had heard her words, they watch as Sonehso:wa’s hand rises to the ends of Anika’s braid-wavy hair covering her back and he loops a section of it between his fingers.  They share a quiet laugh and Connor finds himself feeling drastically relieved at seeing Catherine able to smile beside him.  She is dressed in a white shift instead of her usual clothes and Connor finds himself thinking of when he first saw her in her bedraggled and frightened state, the shift she wore barely qualifying as a piece of clothing.  Now she is calm, if a little pale, but beautiful in the clean white dressing gown.  It is a striking contrast and Connor’s heart beats faster at the comparison, making him jumpy.  He takes their plates and brings them outside to wash along with Anika’s and Sonehso:wa’s. 

In the time it takes for Connor to wash the dishes, Anika has changed into the shift she wore the previous night for sleeping.  She is sitting on the other side of the bed from Catherine, her knees tucked up as she talks quietly with her friend.  Sonehso:wa is laying out his bedroll so Connor does the same, returning to Catherine to steal a final kiss from her.  He nods to Anika and readies himself for bed, taking off his shirt and lying down.  Attempts to settle himself enough to sleep fail and he finds he can only sit and stare into the fire.  Sonehso:wa joins him for some time but even he leaves to sleep after a while.  Connor cannot.  His heart pounds in his chest and his thoughts will not cease tormenting him with visions of Catherine’s suffering.  The distance between them feels too great even though they are only a room apart. 

The bed creaks and Connor tenses his body, stilling his urge to turn his head and look at Catherine for what feels like the thousandth time that night.  He leans forward and pushes a log into the fire instead.  When he sits upright, the rustle of fabric behind him makes him instinctively reach back and grab for the threat.  His hand closes on a small wrist and Anika lets out a gasp.  Connor lets go of her immediately.

“I apologize.  I do not like it when people try to sneak up on me.” Anika rubs her wrist with her left hand and stands with a large gap between them.

“I understand.  I only came over because… you seem like you can’t sleep.”

“That is correct.  I am full of thoughts that keep me awake.  You need not concern yourself with me.”  She steps closer and crouches down beside him.

“But I am concerned.  I can help you if you let me.”  She takes hold of his arm with both of her hands wrapped around his bicep.  Confused, Connor stands up with her.  Anika’s lips part as she cranes her head to look up at him.  He is the biggest man she has ever seen, yet he has a soft spot for Catherine that is bigger than he is.  Anika backs toward the bed and Connor starts to walk toward the chair he had occupied earlier next to Catherine’s side of the bed.  “No.  Not there.”  Anika pulls on his arm again and leads him to her side of the bed.  She points to the turned down blankets beside Catherine.  “Get in.  It’s where you want to be and I won’t keep it from you any longer.”

“The bed is yours and WildCat's.  I will not make you sleep on the floor.”

“You aren’t making me.  I’m choosing to.  I love Cat and I've missed her terribly but I also love Sonehso:wa and I think I'd rather sleep with him.  Your place is with Cat... she needs you more than me.”  Connor holds his breath, unable to speak for the overflow of gratitude he feels for Anika’s selfless act.  Taking her arms in both of his hands, he looks down at her for a long time before he can make any words come from his mouth.  When they do, it is in a rush of exhaled relief and full of emotion.

“Nya:wen, Anika.  Nya:wen.”  Anika doesn't need to speak his language to know a heartfelt thanks when she hears it.  Connor lets go of her and turns to climb into the bed, feeling weaker the closer he gets to Catherine’s sleeping form.  She is what he needs to find his strength again if he can just reach her, touch her, hold her close and smell her skin and hair.  His left hand finds her waist and he wraps his body around hers, conforming himself to her shape.  He presses his face into the back of her neck and inhales her living scent deep into his lungs.  She stirs in her sleep, covering his hand with hers and settling into his body.  Connor’s heart slows as his whirling mind grinds to a painful halt, giving him peace at last and allowing his body to fall into a restful sleep. 

 

A soft sound in the dark draws Catherine out of a dream.  She can’t remember what she was dreaming of but she doesn’t care because a familiar arm is over her body, the fingers of an equally familiar hand curled gently in sleep just below her chin.  She smiles and wonders how Connor managed to trick Anika into giving up her place in the bed.  Moving her eyes toward the fireplace, her ears catch another muffled sound, reminding her of what had woken her in the first place.  The light in the cabin is dim, a crescent moon providing only the faintest of moonlight.  Still, her eyes are able to discern the shape of Anika and Sonehso:wa.  Anika's back is to Catherine and it’s quite obvious that she is completely naked. Sonehso:wa is kneeling and Anika is astride his legs, her hips rolling slowly back and forth.  Sonehso:wa holds her with his arms around her, his dark skin contrasting with her pale skin.

Feeling slightly wrong for watching, yet fascinated by the act of lovemaking performed by two people who care for each other, Catherine moves her position slightly so she can see clearly while still having her head on the pillow and appearing to be asleep.  Her body tenses when she thinks of the many ways she was cruelly violated and she almost gasps when Sonehso:wa suddenly lowers Anika onto her back.  He looms over her but Anika is smiling.  So is Sonehso:wa.  He sits up, pulls himself from inside her, reaches his hand down between her legs and moves it rhythmically there.  Anika softly gasps and she opens her legs wider to him.  Sonehso:wa's smile for her reaction is soft, full of affection and heady with strong desire.  He reaches out to her breasts with his free hand but instead of squeezing them roughly and making her cry out in pain, he caresses each of them softly like a treasure of immense value.  Anika puts her hand over his, tipping her head back with her face a picture of ecstasy and pleasure.  Sonehso:wa takes his hand from between her thighs, reaches to his large, glistening erection and moves his body to enter her again.  Anika slides her right hand up his arm, drawing him further inside.  She clutches his arm and Sonehso:wa leans forward to kiss Anika, his dark hair falling down around their heads.  Anika makes muffled noises as Sonehso:wa moves over her steadily, her legs wrapped around his hips and her toes curling and uncurling.  She claws at his shoulder, leaving marks on his skin yet he keeps his pace slow as her legs shift against his side and she lifts her hips from the floor to meet him. 

Anika had clearly not been exaggerating when she had spoken of sex being pleasurable.  The moment Sonehso:wa sits back from kissing her, her sounds of enjoyment are instantly louder.  She gasps and pants, tipping her head back and holding onto his wrists as he supports her pelvis with his hands while he thrusts quickly into her.  His hair dangles from over his shoulders, swaying in the space above Anika and his breathing becomes erratic as he continues to exert himself, tilting his face upwards and closing his eyes.  A sheen of sweat forms on Sonehso:wa’s body, catching the small amount of moonlight and outlining his physique.  He truly is an attractive man and Anika’s body is beautiful beneath his, her full breasts shifting slightly with every move he makes.  Catherine is entranced by the sight of them enjoying each other so completely.  Anika pulls on Sonehso:wa’s wrists and he bends forward and kisses her breasts, licking her nipples hungrily and making her moan.  That seems to break their trancelike enjoyment for a moment and Sonehso:wa stops his movement, his lips forming the shape of when a shushing noise is made.  Anika tosses her head from side to side in frustration but then nods with a smile, taking his head in her hands and kissing him.  He places a hand on the floor beside her head and uses his other to lift her hips into his next thrust.  Moving quickly, he brings them both to their climax, leaving them panting and sweating where they lie.

Closing her eyes, lest they happen to notice her watching, Catherine finds herself envious of the ease in which Anika has given herself to Sonehso:wa.  She wishes it were so easy for her to just let go of her fears.  Sliding her hand up and into Connor’s where it still lies near her face, she pulls his hand against her chest tightly.  He shifts behind her and tightens his arm around her waist briefly before heaving a sigh and returning to the even breathing and relaxed state of deep sleep.  Catherine is sure all it will take is once with Connor for her to have all the bliss she just witnessed between Anika and Sonehso:wa.  A new feeling of courage fills her as she thinks of how eagerly Anika had wanted Sonehso:wa inside her.  It was the antithesis of what Catherine had endured, this meeting of two bodies, flushed with desire and full of love, ready to give and receive.  There was no taking in what she had witnessed.  Not a single act was unwilling or unappreciated, except for having to restrain their expressions of pleasure.   It had been difficult to discern who had enjoyed it more and Catherine has faith that someday, she may know the answer to that question. 


	16. Exodus

Exodus

 

Catherine spends most of her time in bed the day after her miscarriage. She wants to move, to be active and escape the confines of the cabin but her body is weak and her energy nonexistent. Being helpless frustrates her, making her angry and irritated with her inabilities and though she finishes _Don Quijote_ in the morning,she only does so out of a reluctance to leave it so near the end. Its entertainment value is dampened considerably by her foul mood. Anika insists on spending the afternoon by her side, picking out the lacing from Catherine's pants and using the pieces of stained hide to trace out a pattern for a new pair. Catherine readies the new pattern for stitching by poking holes along the edges of the hide with the awl as Anika cuts them out, handing each piece back as she completes it. Anika uses the salvaged lacing to join the pieces together, tying new lacing in with the old when necessary. When they are done Catherine insists on getting dressed and sitting outside.

Anika supports her around her waist until she is sitting in the chair overlooking the gorge and then retrieves one from inside so she can sit beside her. The air is chilly in the shade of the covered porch and Catherine leans forward to extend her arm over the railing, letting her palm slip into the sunlight slanting down from high above. Sounds of conversation from the men and the strong scent of hickory smoke waft from around the corner of the cabin and merge with the cool, grey smell of wet stone and the more pungent, earthy odor of the moss that grows on the wood of the porch and decorates the cliffs surrounding the gorge. Mist slowly collects on Catherine's skin, reflecting the sunlight and beading into tiny droplets on the fine hairs that cover the back of her hand. She finds herself wishing for the first growth of spring to start showing through the bleakness of the landscape. The deciduous trees are skeletal where they stand between the dark needled pines of the forest. Faded, dead grass lies flattened and dry over the ground and is devoid of all but the palest color. The environment has been sapped of its richness over the winter and it calls to the sun, begging for its warmth to bring forth the first flush of green. The interim between the cold snows of winter and the explosion of life in the spring is a time of stagnation, waiting and restlessness for Catherine; she has always hated it.

Just as the earth begs for a change, so does Catherine. She has not left the confines of the little cabin and its surrounding area for two months. Before that, she was a captive, held down and locked up for almost three weeks. Though this little haven of peace and tranquility is a treasure and she loves it, being confined has never been agreeable to her nature. She thinks about Connor's promise he had made to bring her to his village. She resolves to ask him about it when she feels stronger.

She almost does two days later when Connor gives her his arm and they walk into the woods alone. The smell of pine sap is strong here and Catherine closes her eyes and breathes deeply as Connor leads her. He comes to a stop and Catherine opens her eyes. They are standing by the grave of the old man but now a newly turned pile of earth covered in stones is nearby. Catherine's breath hitches in her chest and her throat constricts. Unable to speak, she raises her hand to the neckline of her shirts, knowing that something to do with her miscarriage is buried there. Connor moves so his arm is around her waist and speaks in the soft way he always does, looking not at her but at the grave before them.

"Anika and Sonehso:wa buried the things that held the blood of your lost baby." Catherine makes a choking sound and covers her mouth.

"Why?" is all she can manage to say. Connor guides her down to kneel with him beside the stony mound. He takes her hands in his and looks into her troubled eyes.

"All living things are spirits and their bodies that contain them must be treated with respect. When we are finished here, our spirits want to return to the SkyWorld where they came from. It is a long and difficult journey and without the help of the living to guide them, they can become lost. We speak words to help them and return their bodies to the earth. Sonehso:wa and I spoke the words of our custom. Anika spoke words in her language as well, though Sonehso:wa did not understand what she said." Catherine is overwhelmed by the dignified way in which all of this had been handled. While she had not felt inclined to give it deeper thought, Connor had opened her eyes to a different view. Touched by their efforts, she is no longer able to contain her tears. She cries more for the gesture and what it means than the actual grave or what it contains. Despite her emotional upheaval and the mixed feelings she had harbored toward her pregnancy, what they did feels incredibly right.

Connor hugs her tightly as she weeps. When she sits back on her heels, she turns toward the small pile of rock covered earth and places her hands on it.  She takes a deep breath and looks at Connor.

"What do your people say?  I want to say it too. Don't tell me the words in English, say them in your language."   Respecting Catherine's request, Connor speaks the words slowly, letting her repeat them as best she can with her tears wetting the rocks as they fall from her face. Never before had she felt any kind of connection to the life she had contained within her body but viewing it as a spirit like any other, not as a burden, gives her a way to face what happened to her. It is enough to help clear the awful weight of hating the life inside her from her conscience.

Days pass slowly and tension builds in Catherine as she waits for her bleeding to stop. For six long days after her miscarriage, she diligently continues to use the leftover strips of cloth cut from her old shift to absorb the last vestiges of that stage in her life. Her body feels lighter but her heart yearns to be free. She and Anika start taking the horses out, exploring the area above the cabin but they never go near where Catherine had been kept by her captors. Heeding Connor's heartfelt warning, Catherine always insists on keeping their paths to the North and West of the cabin. Their little adventures help but Connor's concerns from far earlier nag Catherine. She needs to be around people and these final days of March dragging slowly by have become too much to bear.

It is the middle of the night when Catherine cannot sleep for her thoughts.  Her restlessness is intolerable.  Rolling over in bed, Catherine rests her head on Connor's arm. He stirs and then moves to accommodate her.  She kisses his shoulder.

"Connor…" she says softly. He tightens his arm on her.

"Mmmh?" He rumbles sleepily.

"I was thinking about something you said a while ago." His eyes open and he turns to give her his full attention.  "You said that we would go to your village. Do you still want to take me there?"

"Yes."  He says no more and Catherine is quiet as she traces her fingers over the contours of Connor's torso. She lays her hand flat on his stomach.

"I'm strong enough to travel. You don't have to worry about that anymore." He covers her hand with his and she hears and feels his quick, quiet exhalation through his nose. She does not have to look at him to know he is smiling.

"How can you know my thoughts, WildCat?" Connor asks.  Catherine scoots up higher in bed and kisses his cheek.

"Because you once said you'll always worry about me." Connor rolls on his side and lays Catherine back beside him. He strokes her cheek with his left hand.

"That is true. It will be a much different lifestyle there than you have known here or in New York."

"Connor. After everything… I think I can handle it."  Catherine says with a tone of mild reproach in her voice.

"I know you can, Wildcat."  They lay facing each other in the darkness and Catherine touches Connor's fingers with hers.  

"Take me there." she whispers. Connor nods slowly and then leans in close to kiss her, tasting her mouth as if for the first time. He had been so careful with Catherine in the days after her miscarriage, kissing her with the lightest touch of his lips on hers, afraid of breaking her. Now a hunger has split open in both of them that had been held at bay for too long. Catherine grips his shoulder tightly.  Her hands are small but she has a secret strength in them. The slightest touch, the lightest gesture and Connor has no ability to resist her. He draws her body tightly to his and she bends her leg up, looping it over his hips. As if it has a will of its own, his left hand slides down her back, following the curves of her body and gliding over the fullness of her buttocks and up along the bottom of her thigh. He drags on her leg, inching her closer to his body and tightening his fingers behind her knee. Catherine inhales at his more aggressive touch. Connor's stomach tightens with his usual concern for her limits but she digs her fingers into his neck and the back of his shoulder, deepening their kiss and gently biting his lower lip. With a low groan, Connor rolls on his back, pulling Catherine astride his waist. She breaks from the kiss and lies on his chest for a moment, their fingers intertwining as they both catch their breath.

Catherine sits up and raises their laced fingers up over Connor's head. He gives her a crooked smile that is loaded with suggestion and Catherine twists to look through the dark cabin towards the fireplace. The air is still and silent and she is fairly certain Anika and Sonehso:wa are asleep.  It is hard to be sure in the darkness but they appear to be in their usual position; Anika is curled against Sonehso:wa's body with her head on his shoulder. It is as if they are unaware there are two mats for them to lay on.  Turning back to Connor, Catherine catches the shine of his eyes where the moonlight reflects off of them as he detangles his hands from hers and runs them along her arms, grazes over her breasts and then follows her sides down to her thighs.

The texture of Catherine's fabric shirt feels strange in her hands as she crosses her arms in front of her body and grasps the bottom edges of it in her fingers. It seems to take an age but she pulls her shirt up and over her head, dropping it beside her leg on the bed and looking down at Connor. Except for his eyes he is not moving, not even breathing where he lies underneath her. His eyes roam over her, taking in the sight of her naked torso above him.  They return to her face often but are always pulled away to her body. In contrast to Connor's stillness, Catherine is breathing quickly; her heart pounds in her chest and a tremor runs through her body. Her impulsive decision to bare herself to him no longer feels bold but reckless, yet it is done. As her tension mounts, she does not know what to do with her hands so she places them on Connor's chest to steady herself. Connor lets out the breath he had been holding and his fingers twitch against her legs.

"WildCat…" His hands rise to her waist as he whispers and their warmth against Catherine's exposed skin sends shivers up her body. Slowly, his hands move further up her torso and Catherine bends her arms and meets him half way as he sits up to kiss her. Connor finds her breasts and Catherine presses into his touch, bringing her hands around his shoulders. Connor slips one hand out from between them and grasps her thigh, pulling her closer and cupping her buttock. A sudden urge to give him all of herself makes her weak with longing and fear. _What if it hurts? How can it not?_ Her body must have revealed her thoughts, for Connor withdraws his hands from her body, leans back on his elbows and looks at her.

"Do not do this if you are not ready." His voice is low, only barely above a whisper. Catherine sits up and steadies herself with her hands on his chest.

"I'll never be ready, so I need to just do it and get over my fear."

"No. This is not a fear to be brushed aside. I will not just 'do it' with you."

"Why not? I know you suffer for our games. I've seen what you have needed to do when you thought me asleep."

"You… watched me?" His face is more surprised than she had ever seen before, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead.

"I didn't watch you specifically… I just... noticed. It makes me sad.  You shouldn't have to take care of yourself like that when I'm right here." She drops her eyes, staring at her curls where they lie over her shoulders, partly concealing her breasts.

"You are not here simply to satisfy my pleasure.  You should not worry about my satisfaction."

"You're overly worried about mine…" Catherine's voice is flat with shame.  Connor tips his head slightly to the side and waits for her to look at him.

"I have to be.  I want it to be perfect." Catherine smiles at Connor's innocent, naïve wish. He means well and she understands what he is trying to say but her cynical side knows it will not be perfect. It will be a traumatizing experience to have a man inside her again, she is sure. Something skips in her brain and it makes her pause. She thinks about how far they have come with intimacy and reconsiders the assumption she had just made about sex. Connor has touched her in many of the places where she had only known hurt and she doesn't flinch away or worry about it anymore. On the contrary, she quite enjoys it. _Maybe it can be done without fear and pain._ Catherine lays her hands on Connor's stomach and shimmies farther down so she is sitting on his thighs.

"Then let me do thing my way a little longer." Catherine says.  Connor scrutinizes her face but does not stop her when she moves her hands to the laces on his pants. He is unsure what Catherine intends with her actions but he is certain he will not allow her to have sex with him just to get it over with. If that is what she has in mind it will be very difficult for him to restrain himself and he strengthens his resolve further. Catherine's face is expressionless as she pulls the laces out one by one but her hands falter when she nears the bottom. She moves to kneel by his right side, looking at his face. _What does she want of me?_  Connor wonders.  Moving her hands slowly to the opened edge of his unlaced fly, Catherine lowers her eyes to him and tentatively pulls the top corners down, exposing his dark pubic hair and the base of his penis.  She takes her hands away and glances up at him with a questioning look.  _So she wants to see me. That is harmless enough_. Connor raises his hips and helps Catherine by taking his pants off. He is not as aroused as he had been, for their interaction has become rather strange and almost clinical.

Connor's penis looks different from her husband's and the men who had raped her; it is darker, particularly his scrotum, and significantly larger. Catherine isn't surprised by his size.  Connor is an enormous man so it would make sense that he would be endowed proportionately.  What does intrigue her is his intact foreskin that makes him appear smoother than the other men.  Catherine knows Connor's people do not widely practice the religions of the rest of the world so it makes sense for him to be uncircumcised. Catherine reaches toward him slowly where his partially erect penis lies on his thigh, touching him with only her fingertips. Connor's right hand twitches where it rests on his stomach but he makes no move to stop her.  His soft skin is warm, mobile and delicate, covering the entire length of his penis except for the very tip. Catherine runs her fingers lightly along him, tracing over a raised vein and then stroking through his rather sparse pubic hair.  He grows harder under her light touch, lifting into her palm, and the foreskin withdraws slightly, exposing more of the tip. Connor takes a deep, slow breath, attracting Catherine's attention with his measured exhale. He watches her with dilated eyes and his lips softly parted. Catherine catches a hint of the same lusty enjoyment on his face as she had seen in her attackers but the circumstances are so very opposite. Connor's body is relaxed and it is through her own motivation that she touches him at all.   Nothing had been slow or languorous like this for Catherine before and she finds herself mesmerized by a powerful need to prolong it.

Catherine wants what Anika and Sonehso:wa had shown her was possible.  The contrast between what she had experienced in the past and the lovemaking she had seen between her best friend and her lover is so sharp it slices Catherine in two, dividing her mind from her body. Everything they did was the most beautiful expression of mutual pleasure. Every touch, every movement, every breath was freely given and fully accepted. She wants that with Connor but it seems like a dream of impossibility when her instinctive reaction is still to flinch from an unexpected touch at times. Looking at Connor where he lies, his body partly propped up against the headboard of the bed, she thinks about the times their fragmented foreplay had driven him to secretly pleasure himself. Though they had kissed and sometimes caressed, he had never expected her to please him beyond what she was willing to give. He had sacrificed or delayed his pleasure, never allowing it to intrude on her comfort level. Catherine finds herself wanting to give Connor more simply because he will never demand it of her, so she explores the final physical dimension of Connor's sexuality.  He'd kept it locked away from her but now she wants to experience it, at least in part.  Curling her fingers around Connor's erection, Catherine takes him fully in her hand. Connor's eyes open wide and he quickly moves his arm from his stomach to grasp her wrist, staying any further movement.

He shakes his head, his face full of concern. Catherine leans over and kisses him, using her left hand to attempt removing his restraining grip. He resists her so she draws away just enough to whisper to him.

"Please....  I need to.  I _want_ to." Connor's eyes look deeply into hers and Catherine meets them levelly. As soon as he releases her wrist she moves her hand down the length of his erection to his pelvis. The skin under her palm moves freely over his stiffness and the downward motion of her hand retracts his foreskin, exposing the head of his penis completely. Connor groans and his shoulders press back against the headboard, his left hand tightening into a fist in the sheets. His teeth are clenched as if he is fighting against enjoying what Catherine is doing. Keeping the movement of her hand slow, Catherine strokes the length of him gently several times, watching with fascination as his foreskin covers and uncovers the head of his penis according to her will. Connor's breathing deepens and he twists the sheets in his fist. Catherine stops and Connor gasps out a breath, opening his eyes and looking at her. Leaning close, she kisses him, touching her tongue to his lips until he brings his right hand onto her back. Connor sweeps her hair aside and presses his palm to her skin, pulling her close and kissing Catherine with a powerful intensity.

Using her left hand on his chest for balance, Catherine brings her right leg over so she is straddling Connor's body once more. She resumes the movement of her right hand, her knuckles simultaneously rubbing against her own sex through her pants.  It is a pleasurable concurrence that creates subtle waves of stimulation that increase with each stroke.   Connor continues to kiss her, releasing the sheets and bringing his left hand to her breast to cup it in his palm. Catherine leans back enough to watch his face as he reacts to her touch. His eyes open for a moment but close again under her ministrations.  When Catherine moves her hand a little faster his breathing becomes harsher and he makes a low noise in his throat. There is something empowering about seeing Connor completely under her control, yet enjoying it thoroughly.

Connor moves his right hand to her other breast and lightly squeezes it, managing to crack his eyes open enough to see her. Catherine is studying his face, open mouthed with obvious interest, maybe even fascination, as she touches him. He can barely form a coherent thought when she is stroking him. A creeping guilt encroaches on the edges of his mind that she is catering to his flesh and he is using her for selfish satisfaction.  Such an act would make him no better than the men who abused her. Ever so slightly, Catherine's hand tightens on his penis and his train of thought dissipates, slipping out of his mind even as he tries to hold onto it amid the building tension within him. He tries to focus on how Catherine's perfect breasts feel in his hands, her hard nipples against his palms and in giving her some pleasure in return but his climax is rushing towards him at an alarming speed and he cannot control it without having her stop completely. Attempting to quell his ecstasy is making him incredibly anxious, stealing away the pleasure Catherine aims to give him so he gives up his resistance. His muscles feel as if they have turned to water and his arms fall to his sides without him knowing. His abdomen tenses and he raises his chin back, pressing the top of his head against the headboard as his pleasure seizes him and sends waves of heat and surging spasms deep into his stomach and groin.

Trying not to think too much about why she had learned to recognize when a man is about to reach his climax, Catherine takes note of the subtle changes in how Connor feels in her grasp.  He becomes slightly harder in her hand, the sudden small increase in girth expanding the space between her fingers and thumb.  The skin of his scrotum contracts and his belly compresses. Catherine quickly cups her left hand over him as his stomach muscles tense and Connor finishes with several generous spurts of warmth into her palm. His seed drips off of her fingers onto his pelvis and runs over her hand grasping him.  Once Connor's body relaxes back against the bed and the pulsing swells of his climax slow and then cease in her hand, Catherine leans over to kiss him. In a daze, Connor pants as he recovers, sporadically kissing her between gasps until he brings his arms up and holds her. Catherine's heart races from the experience. She had his pleasure fully in her control and she had been the one to bring him to his climax. He had obviously enjoyed it and she feels as if she has won a victory. She smiles with pride against his lips and wants to crow in exhilarated delight.

After a long moment of rest, Catherine sits up with such a self-satisfied smirk on her face that Connor can't help but smile back. It seems she enjoyed the experience more than he thought. Spotting her shirt crumpled under her knee, he tugs it out and reaches toward the stickiness that covers them. Catherine snatches the shirt from his hand and is suddenly embarrassed as she hastily wipes up his emissions. Connor tosses his pants off the side of the bed and then takes the balled up shirt from Catherine and carelessly sends it sailing through the air to join his pants on the floor. He sits up and takes her in his arms, whispering into her ear.

"I have neglected your pleasure this night. I am indebted to you." Connor settles Catherine on his hips and nips at the lobe of her ear and the side of her neck with his lips, delighting in the shivers that traverse her body under his touch. He slides his hands up and down her back, feeling the changing texture of her skin as his fingers pass over her scars. Despite the permanence of her markings and the awful reason for their existence he memorizes every one, appreciating them as part of who she is now. He thinks of the scars that decorate his body, each one the evidence of a battle lost or won, and serving as reminders of what he fights for. Hopefully Catherine can view hers in the same light. As he trails kisses down her shoulder and leans her back to move between her breasts, Connor runs the fingers of one hand down her abdomen and then over the center seam of her hide pants.  He bends them around the gentle curve between Catherine's legs and cups her sex, then exerts pressure against her as he slides them back up.  Catherine breathes deeply at his bold touch and her pelvis instinctively shifts alluringly towards his fingers.  Connor repeats the motion again, slower, but when he reaches the top of her pants, he grasps the laces.  Pulling the bow loose, he tugs on the edges of the hide until he can slip his fingers between Catherine's stomach and her pants.   He incrementally slides his hand downward until his fingers find her pubic hair and then even more slowly, he presses through it, seeking her fleshy divide.  When he finds it, Connor returns to kissing Catherine's neck.  He makes no further move until Catherine places her hand on his elbow, gripping it tightly and pressing him against her.  Lowering his hand, he curls his middle finger down to part her, immediately finding her welcoming wetness and running his finger through its lush heat.   Catherine makes a soft moan but remains open to his attentions.  Connor exhales against Catherine's neck, excited to have found her so receptive.  He adjusts his hand until he finds her little core of sensation.  He slowly presses upon it rhythmically with his slippery finger, each repetition making Catherine gasp out and shift her legs.  Encouraged by her reaction, Connor pushes his hand down beneath her until he can ease his finger inside her.  With Catherine seated upon his hips, her position only allows Connor to get his finger in to the second joint but even that small amount causes her to arch her body backwards, heaving the air out of her lungs.  She stops him with her hands on the sides of his head, pushing him back so he cannot kiss her skin.  

"Wait...  slowly!"  she says softly.   A tremor runs through her body and Connor quickly takes his hand from her, worry clouding his features.  

"I am sorry. I thought...  I was wrong.  Forgive me."  

"Just hold me. That's all I want right now," Catherine says.  Connor looks at her with his penetrating gaze and his eyes full of apology. Slowly, Catherine slides her fingers through his hair and pulls the tie out of his pony tail. His hair falls down against his cheeks and she kisses him, giving him her forgiveness.  Connor lies down, taking her with him. Her body settles comfortably against his, partly draped over his right side and he strokes her right arm softly with his fingers. Her heart pounds frantically against him despite her calm demeanor and Connor laments Catherine's stubborn persistence at pushing her own boundaries and he curses own inability to see that she had crossed into dangerous territory.  He wants to make love to her but only if she will view it as more than just defeating a fear. Her fear defines her too much and she is trying to turn it into just another challenge to overcome.   _Am I wrong to keep trying to influence her to stop viewing sex as an adversary?_ The last thing he wants is for her to think it is an obligation she owes him. He wants her to desire it, to crave it.  At least when he went too far for her comfort, she was honest enough with him to say something.  However, her request for him to go slower should have been for him to stop. Her sudden reaction had said far more to him than her words had.  Sighing, Connor kisses Catherine's forehead and reminds himself that he needs to be patient and let things progress naturally.

Anika grins conspiratorially from where she is sitting by herself at the fireplace the next morning when Catherine opens her eyes. With a start, she remembers their sexual encounter during the night and that they are both in an incriminating state of undress. She is surprised Connor is asleep so late. Usually he is up and out of bed at the first hint of the sun. As soon as she rolls off of Connor he stirs and cracks his eyes open. The bright morning sun makes him squint and he sits up, his hair falling in disarray around his face. Raising his left hand, he scoops it up and looks around for his hair tie. Catherine finds him exceptionally attractive in this sleepy, rumpled state so she curls her fingers over the item he seeks and smiles as he searches the blankets, lifting them up and running his hand under them, feeling for the elusive tie. After a fruitless search he notices her watching him and his look of concentration changes to narrow eyed, playful suspicion.

Catherine looks like a cat who has gotten a fat mouse and he knows she is hiding his hair tie. Aware that Anika is watching them with obvious amusement he pulls the blankets higher as he moves closer to Catherine. He brings his face close to hers and whispers in her ear.

"You have something of mine." Catherine opens her eyes wide and gives him an innocent look.

"Do I?" In answer to her mischievous goading, he drops his mouth to the corner of her neck and shoulder and kisses her. Catherine squirms under him.

"Anika is right there watching us!" she hisses.  Connor smiles against her skin, tickling her with his laugh. Despite her protest she does not push him away.

"Let her watch, then…" He slips his hand up and covers her breast, lightly tweaking her nipple. Catherine gasps and rolls out of the bed, careless of her partial nudity in front of Anika.  She strands Connor with only the blankets to keep him modest. Anika laughs from where she is sitting and Catherine dangles the red fabric ribbon from her fingers at Connor, knowing he cannot get it from her now. He sits up and rests his arm over the top of the blankets.

"I will have that, woman."

"You can't get it.  You're not clothed." She toes his pants by her feet and Connor grasps the edge of the blankets as if to throw them off.

"My people are not restricted by your understanding of modesty." Just as he speaks, the creaking of footsteps on the porch draw Catherine's attention. Her sassy grin changes to complete panic as she hastily covers her breasts and dives back under the covers.  Only moments later Sonehso:wa enters the cabin. It is Connor's turn to laugh as Catherine tears the blankets from his hands and pulls them to her chin.

Sonehso:wa stands on the threshold and tries to decipher the scene before him. Catherine's face is bright pink and she closes her eyes and pulls the blankets over her head. Connor and Anika are both laughing and it appears to be at Catherine's expense.

"What is happening?" he asks.  Anika laughs even louder at his confusion and tries to explain.

"Cat took Ratonhnhake:ton's ribbon and thought he wouldn’t get out of bed unclothed in front of me to get it. He was about to but then Cat heard you on the porch and had to hide from you."

"Why would she hide from me?" He looks genuinely confused and even a little hurt.  Anika gestures to the Catherine’s shirt beside the bed.

"You see her shirt on the floor there!" Sonehso:wa shrugs his shoulders at Anika and continues to be bewildered by Catherine’s behavior.

"Does she think I will be offended?  I know what they were doing last night.  They made enough noise to wake a b..." At Sonehso:wa’s statement, Catherine lets out an embarrassed groan from under the covers, cutting him off before he can finish speaking.

"Please stop talking about this!" she wails. Connor lifts the blankets off her face and looks at her.

"When we go to the village, you will have to get used to seeing people dressed in very little. Our longhouses are communal."  Sonehso:wa raises his head in interest.  

"I was going to ask if you were ever planning on coming home, brother. I do not want to face the Clan Mother alone after how long I have been away. She will be angry with me." Connor turns from Catherine to acknowledge Sonehso:wa's inquiry.

"If Anika is willing, we can leave for the village as soon as we are packed." All of them look at Anika and she smiles and tosses her hair back.

"Let's go, then."

It does not take long to pack up their few things and make the cabin ready for being unoccupied. Having the horses promises to make their trip fairly easy and much shorter than a trek on foot. The horse Connor had been using had been injured on his last mission and he had had to sell it in Albany on his way back to the cabin. It was no longer fit for long journeys or combat so now it belongs to an old farmer who needed a horse to carry his wares between his farm and Albany.

With Connor and Catherine on the chestnut horse and Sonehso:wa and Anika on the grey, they follow the river once they travel up from the level of the cabin. When the land is too rocky or uneven to stay beside the water their path takes them among the trees, but always, the river is within sight beside them. The forest is alive with wildlife and they are never lacking fresh food to eat at their campsites. Everyone's spirits are high; Connor and Sonehso:wa converse often about their homecoming and speculate on the tribe's reaction to them bringing two white women to the village. Their presence will be exciting enough but because of their relationships, the usual dynamic of living arrangements will be a challenging puzzle. In preparation for being among the villagers, they start teaching the women simple phrases in Kanien'keha to aid them in their ability to communicate. Though most in the tribe speak English fairly well, it will only help to learn the commonly spoken tongue.

Catherine and Anika also speculate but their conversation is more subdued. When they have time alone while the men walk or hunt, they ride close together and speak candidly of their fears or of their anticipation for a new experience. As each day passes Anika's excitement builds and Catherine's anxiety increases. Catherine finds herself wanting to hold onto the moments they have remaining together as a small traveling party, afraid of what a large community will be like with her as an outsider. The rare minutes she and Connor have alone become a treasure without measurable value. Anika's excitement is infectious at times yet Catherine envies her friend's carefree ability to look positively on an uncertain future.

Conversely, Anika worries about Catherine's increasingly subdued enthusiasm. While she had appeared excited to leave the cabin in the beginning, each passing day reveals a quieter, more introverted version of her dear friend. It is disturbing to watch her worry and Anika's heart breaks as Catherine tries to hide her fears from Connor, putting on a mask of contentment for him. When Anika and Sonehso:wa are riding behind Connor and Catherine one afternoon, she moves her hands from Sonehso:wa's waist and pulls gently on his arms to slow the horse, allowing the pair ahead of them to gain a significant lead.

"What is it, Jitkwa:'e?" Sonehso:wa asks, reaching one hand to hers and twisting to see her.

"It's Cat. She's afraid of what it will be like in your village."

"She does not need to be. Ratonhnhake:ton will help her. He knows."

"So you say, and yet I worry about her. Before all this happened, she was always the one to take risks and try new things. I'm not used to being the one more excited about a challenge than she. It makes me feel lost, without direction. I wish I could have the old Cat back but I know that can't be, not anymore."

"Why do you say this? She has changed into a happier, more confident woman than she was when I first met her."

"Maybe so, but you didn't know her before...   _before_."  Anika can't speak of Catherine's assault.  "She was always a rebel whenever she could get away with it. She wasn't afraid of anything."

"I see that in her. Just wait. Let her adjust to her new life. I am sure once we arrive she will not be afraid anymore. The women there will love you both. And so will the men. Ratonhnhake:ton and I will have to keep them away from you two!" Anika laughs behind him and squeezes his waist.

"You don't have to worry about anyone stealing me away from you. And I am sure one look from Ratonhnhake:ton will keep Cat safe from other men's interest." Sonehso:wa joins her in laughing at the way Connor's facial expressions and posture convey his protectiveness of Catherine.

"I already know what it feels like to lose a fight with Ratonhnhake:ton. No one would challenge Catherine's choice. It would be very disrespectful of her if they did. No one will challenge your choice, either, Jitkwa:'e, if I am the man you want. I was only making a joke when I spoke of keeping men away from you." He has told her before that the women are the ones to make major decisions on behalf of the entire village and decide which men will become leaders. It still is a foreign concept to Anika even though she has seen its influence in the way he treats her. Anika rests her head on his back and laces her fingers into Sonehso:wa's.

"You're the man I want. I hope I don't have to fight other women for you!"

"There is only one girl you might have to win over but I know you can do it."

"Maybe the color of my hair will give me an advantage." Anika reaches up with a section of her hair and tickles his neck with it. Sonehso:wa raises his face to the trees above them and laughs heartily.

Four days of travel bring the small group to the outskirts of Kanien'keha:ka territory. The forest is dense here and there had been no sign of colonist habitation since they left the cabin.  As the sun begins to set on the day, Connor returns from a brief hunting excursion.  Their path takes them up a steep rise and at the top, they can see the river snaking away for some distance.  Far ahead in the growing darkness, subtle blinking firelight heralds their first glimpse of the village.  It seems like a tiny speck on the horizon yet a feeling of anticipation builds in everyone as they settle in for their last night out in the wilderness.  For all of the following morning, their journey is ever down hill until they reach a large cliff edge.  They sit on their horses and look down at the river where a ring of tall tree trunks buried in the ground create an impenetrable barrier surrounding a cluster of long wooden structures. From such a height and distance, the village still appears small but when the group has traversed the dusty foot paths along the cliff that lead them ever downward, their next glimpse of the wooden wall reveals it to be much higher than it had originally appeared. A strange, lilting bird sound comes from the trees and both Sonehso:wa and Connor turn their heads toward it, repeating the sound. A lean man jumps down from the branches of the trees and approaches them quickly. He is bald except for a strip of short dark hair that stands up in a crest over the top of his head from front to back. Four narrow, dark stripes are either painted or tattooed vertically on his face from his crest of hair, passing over his left eye socket and continuing down the side of his face until they end beside his mouth and chin. What makes him even more striking are his icy blue eyes, a shocking and unusual feature in a man with his appearance. His skin is a similar shade to Connor's, giving him the look of mixed heritage. He has a brief conversation with Connor and Sonehso:wa before he acknowledges the women silently with a tilt of his head and leaves them, jogging through the trees and disappearing towards the village.

"Kahionhatenion will tell the Clan Mother of our approach." Connor looks over his shoulder, informing both Catherine and Anika of what they had spoken of.  

"Let us continue, brother!"  Sonehso:wa spurs his horse and Connor follows suit.  The remaining distance left to travel is short and it isn't long before the massive palisade is looming up beyond the tree line.

A group of children are playing near the opening in the wall and one of the eldest girls of about seven or eight catches sight of them as they make their way through the trees. She turns around quickly, her long, black braids swinging in the air, and shushes the smaller children under her care. She starts to herd them into the village until one of the younger girls breaks away from the group. Sonehso:wa and Connor dismount and Anika and Catherine look at each other once before both sliding off their horses to join them. The girl who had initially tried to ignore them approaches after the small child and scowls heartily at Sonehso:wa. Dressed in a long, beaded and embroidered tunic that falls to halfway down her lower legs, pants and woven slippers, she boldly steps close to Sonehso:wa and Connor and squints up at them. Standing only as high as their stomachs, she authoritatively moves them aside with her hands and scrutinizes Anika and Catherine. Her ebony eyes move between them and linger the longest on Anika and her blonde hair. While she is quite obviously sizing them up and trying to decide if they are acceptable to her, the other children have wandered closer, following her example. Sonehso:wa picks up the child who had escaped the older girl. She hugs him around his neck and stares at the two women behind him with her mouth open.

Before long, the four of them are surrounded by almost the entire group of children except for a couple of the smallest ones who toddle, wailing, back into the confines of the village walls when they catch sight of the two strange women in their midst. Anika is nearly buried by the children when she sees their curiosity, kneels down and gestures for them to come closer, inviting them to come closer. Little hands touch her face and hair and point to her eyes while a melody of small voices exclaim, giggle and chatter.  Catherine kneels down beside Anika and is given some attention but though her pale skin, blue eyes and curly hair are different and exciting, they are not as interesting compared to the bright golden color of Anika's hair. The eldest girl stands and watches them, reaching out only once to touch Anika's hair and then Catherine's, as if it goes against her better judgment. She frowns at Sonehso:wa and raises her voice over the cacophony of the children behind her, putting her hands on her hips like a saucy teenager. What she says is spoken with an impish confidence that has him doing his best to appear contrite before she stalks off into the village, passing by a jogging Kahionhatenion as he heads back through the woods toward his post.

Catherine, being less inundated by attention, looks up at Connor and Sonehso:wa questioningly where they stand smirking at each other.

"What did she say?" she asks.  Sonehso:wa laughs and lowers the little girl he was holding to the ground. She promptly joins in the fun of touching Anika.

"That is Katsi'tenhiyo. She is the daughter of my father and his wife. She said I am in big trouble for staying away so long and now I return with you and Anika, who she called 'the woman with corn tassel hair.' She is on her way to tell the Clan Mother, who I am sure you will be meeting very soon. She is an ancient woman but her mind and tongue are very sharp." Sonehso:wa closes his eyes and shakes his head with a smile.  "My little sister enjoys pretending to be very much older than me at every opportunity but I know in a short time she will be following me around the way she always does. I only endure it because she is so young." Connor laughs at him.

"Endure it! He cannot say no to her."

"You are no better, brother. You make it worse by spoiling her."

"At least I do not crawl on my belly at her command." From where she sits, Anika laughs at their conversation.

"So she's my competition you warned me about? She's quite formidable. I knew you had something up your sleeve when you wouldn't elaborate." Anika gently extricates herself from the curious children and stands, only to find her hands being taken by them. With both of Anika's hands claimed the next best choice is Catherine so there is a mad rush and some power jockeying to determine who gets to hold them. Two of the older girls win so Connor and Sonehso:wa lift the remaining children onto the horses. Like a comical children's entourage, with the boys on the horses waving their toy bows and corn stalk clubs, they make their way through the corridor of thick fencing and enter the village compound.

Inside are several long, massive, round roofed structures in neat rows, completely covered in grey, weathered bark and slender strapping. An enormous fire pit in the center of the enclosure appears to be a communal gathering place and just beyond the outer limit of the village is the river's edge. A canoe is upside down on the shore and some men are working together, stripping it down to its frame. The place seems strangely devoid of people except for a small collection of elderly, a few women, some either heavily pregnant or carrying infants, and a few very young children who are gathering together near the lean-to at the end of one of the longhouses. An exceptionally elderly woman emerges and the group accompanies her as she makes her way slowly towards the village entrance holding onto a tall, carved walking stick. Two long braids hang over her shoulders almost to her waist, crowning her head in white but darkening into charcoal grey by the bottom.   She has the wizened appearance of a woman who has lived through a century of experiences both good and bad.

Katsi'tenhiyo walks by her side and looks up triumphantly at her brother, no doubt anticipating a public dressing down or an equally embarrassing experience she can gloat about later. Her smug expression falls when a woman who appears to be in her late forties joins her and places a stern hand on the girl's shoulder. It is obvious she is Katsi'tenhiyo's mother, for she is an elegant, older version of the child.  She places her free hand over her heart and smiles with a mother's deep affection at Sonehso:wa and Ratonhnhake:ton.

The two groups close the distance between them quickly and the men take the children down from the horses. At a few words from the old woman, the children disperse without protest, either going to several of the women gathered there or running off to occupy themselves elsewhere, the only signs of reluctance being some backward glances and slow feet. Both Anika and Catherine are surprised when the revered older woman addresses the men in English.

"You have returned."

"Yes, Grandmother. It is good to be home." Connor speaks first, his hands couched one within the other in front of him and his posture indicating great respect. The woman nods and turns her attention to Sonehso:wa. Instantly, everything jovial about him turns into utter humility and submission to her authority. She taps him in the center of his chest with her walking stick and sighs loudly. His shoulders slump forward and he looks like he wishes he could disappear in a puff of smoke. Katsi'tenhiyo's exultation returns, a renewed smile coming over her face and her midnight eyes sparkling with glee.

"I am sorry if I have caused you pain in your spirit, Onkwahsotha, and I beg your forgiveness. I did not think I would be gone so long. My carelessness has disappointed you and dishonored you once again." His voice is soft and he lowers his head as he finishes. The Clan Mother steps closer and touches his arm affectionately.

"My troubled Onondowaga son. I knew one day I would have to release you as I did Ratonhnhake:ton. The Deer and the Turtle are brothers in their need to be alone. Yet here you have returned to me. Do not be grieved any longer." Sonehso:wa breathes easier and his body loses the tense stance it had been holding on to, as if he had just been granted a stay of execution. The old woman's hazy eyes fall on Anika and Catherine where they stand silently holding hands, partially hidden behind the men.  "Tell me now my sons, who are these two white women you have brought with you?" Sonehso:wa raises his eyes to her and speaks with confident ease now that his feared repercussions have dissipated with the forgiveness of the powerful woman before him.

"These women are under our protection. My brother saved this woman, Catherine, from death at the hands of evil men and sent me to New York to ensure the safety of this woman, Anika. I had to take her from that place to fulfill my duty." He gestures to each woman in turn.  When he finishes speaking, Connor shifts his weight and Sonehso:wa instantly knows he picked up on his slight alteration of how he ended up being the one going to New York. Sonehso:wa is sure he will hear about it later from his friend. His concern pales to insignificance when the Clan Mother next speaks.

"You know it is no longer customary to bring outsiders here after what happened during the war." Afraid of being turned away at the very gates of the village, Anika lowers herself gracefully to her knees and entreats the elderly woman with her hand stretched out in a gesture of supplication. Unsure of what to do, Catherine joins her and stares at the ground, her stomach roiling with fear of rejection. She is sure the word of this powerful leader is unquestioned law.  Anika’s voice is shaky beside her but grows stronger as she speaks.

"If you please, honored Clan Mother, we are humble women in the debt of these men and we intend no disrespect to you or your customs. They saved our lives and in the process have won our hearts. We would stay with them if you'll allow it." Catherine gasps at Anika's bold words and squeezes her hand. A long silence stretches and Catherine takes a chance, raising her eyes from the dirt under her knees to dare look at the commanding woman. Her wrinkled face is creased even deeper with a smile that seems carved from the earth itself. Her tiny, hunched body heaves with silent laughter and she reaches her gnarled hand toward them.

"Come! Rise, my daughters, you are welcome here. There is no need to kneel like captives." Both Sonehso:wa and Connor have expressions of bewildered shock on their faces and neither of the women are sure whether it is because of their overly submissive behavior or the Clan Mother's laughing reaction to it. She turns to face the rest of the people present and Catherine and Anika get hastily to their feet with the help of Connor and Sonehso:wa.  "We must prepare a meal for the safe return of my two sons and for our guests. It appears we have more than a homecoming to celebrate." She looks meaningfully at the men where they stand and then sweeps her gaze over Anika and Catherine.

"Bring your things inside and then come speak with me. We have much to discuss." She hobbles slowly away and is quickly replaced by Sonehso:wa's step-mother, with little Katsi'tenhiyo dragging her feet in her wake.

"My son! I have missed you!" She says in Kanien'keha as she embraces Sonehso:wa fondly.

"As I have missed you, mother," he replies, returning her hug with genuine enthusiasm. The woman then faces Catherine and Anika. Addressing them both, she speaks in English.

"Welcome! I am Ori:te'hiyo. Anika, Catherine, my heart is filled with joy for your presence here. What beautiful sisters you are." Anika dips her head.

"Thank you, madam. Catherine isn't my sister though. We're just very close friends."

"You may be sisters soon…" She says enigmatically as she smiles kindly and extends her warmth to Catherine with her benevolent gaze. At last she turns to Connor and holds out her hands to him.  "Welcome home." He leans down and gives her a hug that leaves her gasping and she lightly smacks his arm before turning her attention to the women once more.

"There is room at our hearth for you both, and you, Ratonhnhake:ton if you wish to join us as is your custom when you are here." Connor nods acknowledgment and they start to walk behind Ori:te'hiyo as she leads them toward one of the massive bark constructions within the village. They are quickly surrounded by the rest of the villagers who had been standing and respectfully observing all that had transpired upon their arrival. Anika and Catherine do their best to remember the lessons Connor and Sonehso:wa had primed them with but all too soon they are overwhelmed by the excitement. Some of the older members of the tribe speak among themselves in Kanien'keha and smile knowingly at Connor and Sonehso:wa.

When they finally are allowed to continue on to the appropriate longhouse, Connor and Sonehso:wa both appear deep in thought. Their mood is pervasive and Catherine's heart rate increases as she wonders what is so serious that it has succeeded in controlling even the ever-ebullient Sonehso:wa's high spirits. Connor is understandable, for he often becomes quiet when something is on his mind. Catherine slows her steps and takes Connor's hand, prompting him to slow his pace and look down into her upturned face. Those telltale creases at the corners of his eyes are back and Catherine is nearly struck down by the solemnity she finds in his expression.

"What's wrong?" she whispers. Connor slows his pace even further and squeezes her hand in his.

"Onkwahsotha, our Grandmother, has taken Anika's words to heart. If what she said is truly as you feel, then she will have a wedding arranged for both us and Sonehso:wa and Anika soon."

"A wedding! Is that the only way we can stay here?"

"Of course not. I wondered if something like this would happen but I did not think it would present itself so soon. I do not want you to feel forced. If it is not what you want, you must speak up about it. There is time. The Clan Mothers will want to arrange an adoption ceremony first." Catherine stops and Connor takes one step before he realizes she has become rooted in place. She is staring at the ground and breathing heavily.

"Is that what you want? Marriage?" Connor is silent as the rest of the group reaches the longhouse and starts to go inside.

"If you are not ready, I will wait without complaint." Catherine shifts her feet and attempts to settle the uncertainties that perpetually harass her.

"I'm so afraid… Adoption? What does that mean? Will we be separated?" Connor hesitates before answering.

"Yes. You and Anika may be kept together but we will be separated. Members of the same clan cannot marry.  I am of the Turtle, as my mother was, so you cannot be adopted by the Turtle clan and marry me.  We would be viewed as brother and sister. For Anika it is different. Sonehso:wa is of the Deer clan of the Onondowaga. He was not adopted by the Turtle clan when he came to live with his father. There is no Deer counterpart with the Kanien'keha:ka. Anika can be adopted by any of the three clans." Catherine shakes her head.

"Do we not have any say in the matter?"

"You do. No one will force you to marry me or to be adopted. If we do marry but you are not adopted before you bear children, your children will be of no clan, either. That is not ideal in the eyes of the Haudenosaunee." Catherine's eyes are wide and Connor has not seen such worry in them for quite some time.  He takes her hands. "Come inside. We will talk more of this with the Clan Mother. Do not fear her. You have already found favor in her eyes. I have not seen her laugh like that for many years." Catherine falls into step with Connor and he brings his arm around her waist reassuringly. He leaves their horse with the grey one outside the longhouse and unties their items he had taken from the cabin, including a large roll of his collected furs and hides.

Inside the longhouse is extraordinarily dark compared to the bright sunlight outside. A wide, open corridor runs down the center from the entrance they came through all the way to a second one on the other end, with enough room for racks of drying clothes and supplies to be spaced out here and there without movement being restricted. The only light comes from several fire rings that are spaced at intervals down the central aisle and through corresponding holes in the ceiling where the smoke from the fires escapes. It is surprisingly warm in the structure despite its size. Along the sides of the corridor are two levels of deep, bench-like structures. The lower one, which is about knee height off the ground, is clearly used for sitting and sleeping, while the upper level that is situated a little higher than Connor's head is for storage. Vertical partitions are spaced along the length of the longhouse on each side, providing privacy for family groups and as a place for various weavings, hanging herbs and pieces of art to be displayed. Everything seems to have been designed for multiple purposes and while each section is a little different with decoration or functionality depending on how the occupants have chosen to utilize their areas, it appears to be a very efficient use of space.

About half way down the longhouse, Connor stops in front of one of the partitioned off spaces, which happens to be split by one of the communal campfires. Ori:te'hiyo is rearranging some furs on one of the deep shelves that appears to not be in use, while Sonehso:wa reaches up to place baskets and his and Anika's travelling bags on the upper shelf. Katsi'tenhiyo sits on the bed across the corridor from them with her hands on her knees and her feet swinging restlessly, watching them with a petulant frown on her face. Anika crosses the aisle and sits down beside her.

"My name is Anika. I know yours is Katsi'tenhiyo. Can we be friends? I'm going to need a lot of help learning about your village and I bet you can teach me a lot." Katsi'tenhiyo is quiet and she stops swinging her feet. She looks at Anika and then across to her half brother where he stands watching her with a repressed smile on his face.

"Sonehso:wa can teach you." Katsi'tenhiyo jumps off the bench and runs out of the longhouse. Anika looks at Sonehso:wa and turns her palms up in a sign of helplessness.

"Do not worry. She will come around. I can understand her jealousy. I felt the same when my father married Ori:te'hiyo." He smiles at his stepmother and she lays a hand on his arm. She laughs freely.

"It only took him ten summers to love me."

" _Ista!_ That is not true. I just had a hard time showing it." She smiles and pats his arm.

"I know, my son. I know. Katsi'tenhiyo is a stubborn child. She takes after her father, as do you. Just give her some time." She looks across at Anika.  "Do not put excessive effort into winning her love. You have good intentions, I can see that, but it will only make her fight. Once she learns that her stomping and frowning have no effect she will give it up." She nods her head as she finishes speaking and Anika smiles sheepishly at her hands. Ori:te'hiyo smiles when Connor presents the roll of furs to her.

"I was not able to bring as many as I would have liked," he says sadly.  Ori:te'hiyo takes them from him.

"You will still make the other mothers jealous with how often you give me these."

"They are for all, but you are who I owe the greatest honor to for letting me stay with your family while I am here." She smiles again and lays them where her daughter had been sitting so she can sort and distribute them later. Once Connor has deposited his and Catherine's things on the shelf, she addresses them further.

"The Clan Mothers will be waiting for you. Come." She leads them out the other side of the longhouse and back across the common area towards another of the enormous structures. A capable and serious looking man stands just inside and stops Ori:te'hiyo with a few respectfully spoken words and an outstretched hand. She steps aside and gestures for the two couples to proceed without her. Connor responds to the question in Catherine's eyes.

"The Clan Mothers want privacy with us."

Inside, the semidarkness of the longhouse is completely empty of people except for three women sitting around a merrily crackling fire. One of them is the ancient woman who had spoken with them earlier. The other two are not quite as old but they are no less wise or imposing for their comparitive youth. All three Clan Mothers are dressed in warm clothing with artful depictions of animals picked out in shining beads and intricate embroidery. Each of them wears a wrap that is so detailed and extravagantly beautiful that they must be for ceremonial purposes only.Connor and Sonehso:wa take the lead and sit by the fire so that Catherine and Anika can be beside each other between them. The two women hold hands and briefly exchange a glance with some trepidation. There is an air of seriousness and solemnity hanging over everyone present. 

When everyone is settled, one of the Clan Mothers begins to speak. She addresses the other older women first, speaking for some time in Kanien'keha before she faces the rest of the group present. She continues to speak in her native tongue to Connor and Sonehso:wa and then stops, raising her hand and indicating that one of them should translate. Sonehso:wa nods in deference to Connor and he takes a breath.

"The Clan Mothers would like to welcome you to Kanatahseton, our village home." Gesturing to each of the women in turn, he identifies them, starting with the woman who had spoken in introduction, moving to the ancient woman who had greeted them at the entrance and finishing with the last woman, who appears to be the youngest, though well into her 80's.

"Our grandmother, Clan Mother to the Turtle; our grandmother, Clan Mother to the Wolf; our grandmother, Clan Mother to the Bear. They would like to know your story and how you came to be in need of our help. They also want to know your feelings…why you… find us acceptable as marriage mates." He is obviously uncomfortable at having to express that to them. Connor touches Catherine's hand where it rests on her knee.  "We should probably start with your story, WildCat. It is why you are both here."

Catherine looks down at the flames of the fire and tries to slow her breathing. A ringing is in her ears and her heart is pounding. Only Anika and Connor are aware of any details of what happened to her. Sonehso:wa knows even less and none of them know it all, yet she has a feeling these women will detect if she holds anything back. _What if they find me unacceptable, a disgusting thing who could pollute their people by my presence?_  Catherine knows her indecision is dragging out the silence and she fears that she is creating a disrespectful scene. Her bottom lip trembles before she can bite down on it and Connor covers her hand with his reassuringly. The ancient Turtle Clan Mother looks at her and moves her hand slowly across the space in front of her knees in a kindly and generous gesture, as if to say she is free to open her heart to them and they will listen to her words. Catherine firms up her resolve and decides that if she is going to be accepted, it will have to be with full disclosure and under no pretenses. She lifts her chin and begins.

"I willingly married a man who I knew didn't love me only four months ago…" Catherine speaks in a measured tone, pausing so Connor can recite her story in Kanien'keha for the Clan Mothers. She bravely holds back nothing, knowing that she would regret keeping silent about how bad it really was after resolving to be completely honest. Connor grows visibly troubled as he translates Catherine's story, not having known in such detail the level of her abuse. The details of her frequent whipping, rapings, beatings, sodomy and starvation make his voice successively lower in camber until he is nearly growling.  At one point his voice shakes with barely contained fury and the muscles in his jaw clench as Catherine describes one of several instances when two of the men decided to use her at once.  When they had finished with her, they kicked her onto the floor, dragged her by her hair outside into the freezing cold and beat her for her resistance. They then tied her to the hitching post, naked, shivering and covered in the men's filth.  There, the third man used her.  Afterwards, they left her there for two hours and she'd huddled against one of the horses for warmth until they brought her back inside.  Connor's face is transformed by his anger and Catherine wonders if Sonehso:wa will have to take over as her mouthpiece when he raises his clenched right fist and lowers his forehead against it with a rictus of horrified revulsion contorting his features.

Throughout Catherine's recounting of the atrocious details of her abduction and abuse, Anika weeps miserably by her side, unable to withhold her sadness for her best friend's mistreatment. Catherine doesn't dare look at her because she knows she will lose control of her emotions as well if she does. Instead, she squeezes Anika's hand tightly and continues to speak, watching out of the corners of her eyes as Sonehso:wa reaches out his hand to comfort Anika. Connor continues as her translator and at last, they are able to move past her deplorable experiences in captivity. Strangely, the act of pouring out all of her story leaves her feeling as if a crushing boulder has been rolled off of her body. The Clan Mothers show no outward sign of disgust or judgment. There is only kindness and empathy in their expressions and Catherine takes heart. Though she still feels buried in shame for what happened, the truth is no longer locked inside her and she can go forward with a free conscience, whatever good or bad that may bring her.

Moving on, she relates how Connor had meted out his own form of justice, killing her captors and extending himself to take her in and treat her many wounds. The three Clan Mothers nod with approval at this. Catherine confesses her terrible fear and distrust of him, thinking him capable of the same heinous cruelty as the men who had abused her.  When at last she reaches the point where she had realized her pregnancy, she hesitates.  She falters through the account of her struggle with Connor on the cliff edge in an attempt to kill herself. After everything she had spoken of enduring and all that Connor had done for her, such an act feels shamefully selfish and the result of an unsound mind. However, Catherine soldiers on, too deep to stop now and her own tears beginning to fall not for self pity, but for how close she had come to hurting Connor. She speaks fondly of how he had supported and comforted her through her weeks of sadness and sickness, making sure she got outside and was active, encouraging her to practice what he would teach her and always finding ways to show affection. She smiles at him when she relates her eventual acceptance of him as more than a savior but also as a man she cares for and as the father of her illegitimate child.  She becomes serious again at the loss of it only a short time later when Sonehso:wa had returned with Anika.

The three Clan Mothers appear strongly moved when Catherine tells them what Sonehso:wa, Connor and Anika had done on behalf of the life she had been unable to sustain within her body. She expresses her appreciation for the powerfully cathartic effect speaking the words had had on her ability to recover from it. At that point Catherine stops, an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion coming over her. She slumps forward, drained from the effort of pouring out her soul to these women. Connor lays a hand on her back and she leans into him, finding strength in his solid form and his arms around her. She heaves a tremulous sigh and squeezes Anika's hand, receiving a firm squeeze back, each of them silently expressing solidarity with the simple gesture. They are allowed a respite from the story telling and at a command from the Wolf Clan Mother, the man who had barred Sonehso:wa's step-mother enters. She issues a request and the man is quick to retrieve an earthen container and some wooden bowls. He distributes the bowls around and pours water from the container into them. At a gesture from the Bear Clan Mother he quietly returns to his post and the Turtle Clan Mother speaks.

"Drink. Find refreshment from the telling of your story."   Catherine is so drained by her accounting that she feels nauseous.  Connor smooths her hair back and holds her against his chest.  Catherine trembles and begins to weep again.  Connor tightens his arms around her and Catherine lifts her chin to look up at him.  He is no longer ignorant of the many shameful ways she was used and how impure she is.  After some time is spent in relative silence, Connor leans forward and lifts his bowl of water up and holds it for Catherine to drink.  She is overwhelmed by his continued care for her.  Before taking a sip, she whispers to Connor quietly enough that only he can hear her.

"I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you about how bad it was.  I should have told you before letting you think you wanted me."  Connor brings the bowl closer and Catherine takes a sip to hide her face from him for a moment.  Connor kisses her head and whispers his response.

"Nothing has changed, WildCat.  There is not anything about your past that could change how I feel about you, except to make me care more."  His words make Catherine weak in her entire body.  Every word of it is true and she knew it in her heart all along.  Yet Connor had known she needed reassurance and had freely given it to her.  He sets the bowl down, wipes his hand down her cheek to brush away her tears and then helps her settle more comfortably against his side.  

The Turtle Clan Mother nods to Anika and Sonehso:wa, indicating that it is their turn to speak. Catherine smiles at Anika, who leans close to kiss her cheek before turning toward the fire and the waiting Clan Mothers.

Anika relates the horror of the sleepless night Catherine had not returned to the estate in New York. The following day an enormous search party had been organized, consisting of almost all of the men under Sergio's employ. They had marched through the city and ridden out into the frontier surrounding it, making an extremely public show of manpower.  They returned with Catherine's horse and a report of evidence of a possible scuffle where the horse was found near the river that divides the city. Only a day later, a newspaper article surfaced highlighting the horrible tragedy of the Lady Catherine Martinez, possibly having been attacked by bandits and lost to the waters of the river.  It was speculated that her body had been washed out to sea. Francisco and Sergio hosted a funeral of storied proportions and shortly thereafter had dismissed Anika from their employ while she still wore the black of mourning. She brushes over her short employment as a laundress and moves on to her arranged meeting with Sonehso:wa, his discovery of her pursuers and the decision to take her away to rejoin with Catherine.

Anika confesses her fear of Sonehso:wa at first, their growing affinity and her sudden relapse at his violence in her defense when she had been attacked outside of Albany. When she had come to understand him better, her affection for him had become her entire world, second only to seeing Catherine alive and well with her own eyes. Their near discovery in Albany and Sonehso:wa's injury had reinforced their need to continue on in reaching safety. Anika relates her side of Catherine's miscarriage, expressing an appreciation for the value Sonehso:wa had attributed to the loss of a human life in such a way, viewing it not as a bunch of bloody rags but as the remnant of a spirit that needed to be respected. She speaks of her initial concern that Catherine would succumb to her blood loss in the first hours after her miscarriage and of Connor's steady devotion to her. It helped her to see how much he loved her and also revealed her own strong need to nurture what she and Sonehso:wa had. Her affection for Catherine had made her realize that she needed to step aside and let Connor's love take precedence, for the fidelity of a friend and sister, though powerful in its own right, is vastly different than that of a lover, and Catherine had needed more of Connor's love than her own.

Though the telling of her misadventures takes considerably less time and are far less traumatic, the wise women consider her words with the same amount of gravity as they did Catherine's. After she is done speaking and Sonehso:wa has completed his role as translator, an almost echoing silence fills the longhouse. Except for the crackling of the fire and the occasional noise of a wooden bowl grating against the hard packed ground when it is either lifted or placed down, there are few extraneous noises. Some muffled sounds of conversation drift through the walls of the longhouse but they seem distant, increasing the impression that the fire they sit around is an island far from the rest of the world. Despite the quiet, there is no awkwardness, only a sense of waiting and expectation. The three women across from the two couples spend time regarding each other and speaking little. The Turtle Clan Mother lowers her eyes and shakes her head with a gracious gesture toward the other two women. The Wolf Clan Mother turns to her Bear companion. Connor quietly takes up the translation of their words.

"Speak, sister, and make your decision."

"The dark haired one, Catherine, is the embodiment of a Bear woman. She has shown great courage and strength in the face of her trials. I would be honored to have her as my daughter." The oldest woman nods in respectful acknowledgment of her choice and raises her voice.

"And I find Anika, with her yellow hair of the corn spirit, to be a Wolf for her loyal heart." Catherine and Anika exchange a worried glance. Upon observing it, the Wolf Clan Mother speaks up once again.  "I see the idea of being apart is of great concern to you both. Your sisterly love is strong. If my Bear sister is willing, I will relinquish my claim on Anika and allow her to join with the clan of the Bear so you may remain together as true sisters." Catherine and Anika turn their attention to the youngest Clan Mother and await her response. She moves her eyes to Anika and nods her head in acknowledgement.

"Her qualities reflect that of the Bear as well, especially her care for the health of her sister. I will gladly gain two new daughters this day." The Wolf Clan Mother turns to the two women and makes eye contact with each of them.

"Do you wish to join with the Bear Clan? They are the healers of the Haudenosaunee, courageous, defensive of their family and unafraid to show their strength. As part of the clan of the Bear, you are free to choose a man of the Turtle or Wolf clan." She moves her eyes to Sonehso:wa.  "Or of the Deer clan of the Onondowaga."

Sonehso:wa lowers his head in respectful acknowledgement of the Wolf Clan Mother's allowance for his sake. Catherine looks at the elderly women before her and her fear of being apart from Connor somehow seems less frightening now that she has been in the presence of these powerful women and found acceptance from them. They had made sure that nothing could prevent either woman from marrying the one she loves and had respected their need to remain together. Looking at Connor, she entreats him silently and he whispers to her.

"This is not my choice, WildCat. I have no say over your decision. We will not be far from each other and we will never be prevented from being together." Turning to Anika, Catherine watches as Sonehso:wa quietly seems to be telling her the same thing. Their eyes meet and Catherine instantly sees a longing in Anika's for a future with Sonehso:wa. Catherine is awed by her friend's confidence in taking such a huge step into the unknown and wishes she could find it in herself to have more faith that a major decision like this will not end up having a detrimental effect on her life. This is the first decision that is truly hers alone. _If I err on the side of caution will I risk making Anika's decision more difficult? What prevents me from marrying Connor either now or in the future?_  Catherine reasons that she has been declared legally dead and her previous marriage is over. There is nothing holding her back except the lingering fear that she can never completely shake. It only proves that Francisco still has his claws in her. The realization galvanizes Catherine and she squeezes Anika's hand tightly and sets her jaw. Anika's face transitions to such overwhelming happiness that Catherine can't help but smile in return.

"We'll truly be sisters, Cat!" The women put their arms around each other and together they face the three Clan Mothers. The Bear Clan Mother gets to her feet and motions to the two young women to join her. When they approach, she holds out her hands to them and each of them takes one. She nods to Connor for him to continue translating.

"We have not adopted an outsider for a long time. Other tribe members taken for the loss of our own in warfare is more common. Our Wolf sister informed us of your words to her and… unusual willingness to lower yourselves to a slave's status to stay with these men. That kind of devotion is admirable and your qualities are desirable. We have known these sons for many years and they would not have brought you here if they did not return your affection." She moves her eyes toward Connor.  "Ratonhnhake:ton. He has labored hard to protect us and we wondered if he would ever allow a woman to claim him." Connor hesitates to repeat the final sentence but the Clan Mother is anticipating it and gives him a stern look. Catherine finds his embarrassment endearing and almost lets out a small laugh when she catches sight of Sonehso:wa's unusually serious face. She knows him well enough to realize when he is trying hard not to break propriety at the expense of his friend. Evidently, the Bear Clan Mother notices it as well. "Sonehso:wa, too, has been a source of concern. His heart was cold and bitter and Ori:te'hiyo shed many tears over him until his Deer spirit woke him up and reminded him to be fair and faithful." Sonehso:wa is horrified and humbled by her words and resolves to speak with his step-mother privately to assure her of his love.

Having gotten her points of counsel adequately distributed, the Bear Clan Mother addresses them with one final declaration.

"Tomorrow we will hold the ceremony. We must speak with the chiefs and make preparations. Until then, be welcome in the Bear Clan longhouse as our guests." When she is finished speaking, she nods to all present and makes her way toward the entrance. Just like that, the formality is broken and there is a shuffling as the other two Clan Mothers get creakily to their feet, turning down the help of the men with dismissive waves of their wrinkled hands. The young women fondly embrace and Anika whispers to Catherine.

"I know you did this for me, Cat, and it wasn't easy. Thank you. I love you so much!"

"I love you too, Ani. It would have been selfish of me force you to do this alone just because of a few bad experiences." Anika steps back and grasps Catherine's arms tightly in her hands. She shakes her head, dumbfounded.

"A few bad experiences? What happened to you was horrible, terrible torture! My sweet Cat!  No one can blame you for being cautious." Anika looks at Catherine and rubs her hands over her arms and sighs.  "You _are_ a Bear! You're the strongest, most courageous woman I know and I can only dream of being like you." Anika turns to look up at Connor where he stands watching them a few steps away near where Sonehso:wa is speaking with the Wolf Mother.  He seems unwilling to interrupt their intimate conversation.  "Ratonhnhake:ton is good for you. Even if you don't marry soon, at least consider it. There isn't another man like him in the world. Well, except Sonehso:wa, but he's mine." She laughs softly and seems embarrassed at her possessive statement.

"Are you and Sonehso:wa planning on marrying?"

"Why not? He’s told me he wants to if I wish it. I know we would be happy. If he hadn't taken me away, I’d probably be an unwed spinster servant for the rest of my life. Or married to some fat, old, poxy man who drinks too much and spanks the maids." Catherine laughs loudly before clapping her hand over her mouth and then lowering her voice to a barely contained whisper.

"Anika! That's horrible!"

"It's the truth. Once you were gone, all prospects for me went right out the window." Catherine hugs her soon-to-be sister tightly and they stand holding hands to wait for Connor and Sonehso:wa. The two remaining Clan Mothers dismiss the men and they join the women to leave the longhouse.

It is already late afternoon when they emerge, with shadows reaching their long arms all across the enclosure.  The village is awash with many more people than had been present when they first arrived. Everyone seems to have a reason to be near the longhouse and a collective noise comes from those assembled when they come into sight. Following quickly on its heels is a rush of voices and shouting of names.

"Sonehso:wa is back!"

"Ratonhnhake:ton!"

"Who are those women?"

"Who are they?"

Only Connor and Sonehso:wa understand the speculative comments and questions posed by the people, knowing their queries are based on curiosity, not animosity. The crowd hushes somewhat when the Wolf and Turtle Clan Mothers exit the longhouse behind them. The Turtle Clan Mother raises her voice and addresses everyone.

"These women are guests of the Bear Clan. Tonight we will join together and eat as one in their honor and for the safe return of our sons." A hearty cheer goes up at the announcement. Everyone loves an excuse to celebrate and the crowd quickly disperses to lend their many hands in preparing for the evening's festivities.

Anika observes the village, now full of men and women of all ages moving about their tasks.

"Where were they all?" she asks.  Sonehso:wa answers her.

"It is spring. The men are clearing new fields, stripping bark, making repairs on the longhouses and canoes, hunting and fishing. The women are planting the crops, gathering the first products of spring and working indoors on clothing and hides. Everyone works together for the village. When children are old enough, they join the adults to learn." As they cross to Sonehso:wa's family's longhouse, the women are intrigued by how happily everyone seems to be participating in their roles. Almost every person they pass welcomes them in a friendly way and the women are rewarded with enormous smiles and excited responses when they practice their Kanien'keha greetings. Both Connor and Sonehso:wa enjoy seeing their efforts be rewarded and they gamely respond to the suggestive and teasing comments they get from some of their closer acquaintances.

Anika's and Cat's few belongings are quickly transferred to another longhouse and Catherine feels a pang of nervousness at knowing she will not be sleeping next to Connor this night or for any foreseeable night. Some of her anxiety settles when she reminds herself that Anika will be with her and they will make their way together, as they always do. The men attempt to linger as long as possible until the Bear Clan Mother approaches the unoccupied section near one end of the longhouse that had been offered to Catherine and Anika. Two teenaged girls are following her. They keep their heads together and appear to be giggling. The Clan Mother smiles indulgently at the men and then waves her hands in a shoo-ing motion at them. They defer to her authority and promise the women they will see them later at the celebration.

Once the men are out of the longhouse, the Clan Mother waves the two girls over. They rush over to Anika and Catherine with beaming faces and smiles that are incredibly infectious. The girls seem ready to burst at the seams with excitement and they can hardly stand still while the Clan Mother makes introductions.

"Welcome to your new home, Anika… Catherine." She smiles at them both in turn as she greets them.

"This section will be yours, both now and when the time comes for a husband to join with you. These two girls will be your companions and teachers until you are comfortable with our ways and customs. They will be your younger sisters when you have been formally adopted. I will let you all make your own introductions, for if I hold them back any longer they just might fall down…" She cackles out a good-natured laugh, which takes Catherine and Anika by surprise. Everything had seemed so formal coming from her, yet she affectionately swats at the girls as they hurtle past her and start talking at the same moment.

The two teenagers appear to be of the same age but look as different as night and day. One is tall and gangly, her face angular with high cheekbones, a wide jaw and a strong nose. Her almond shaped eyes tilt slightly upwards at the sides and her eyebrows arch high, making her look as if she is slightly surprised. She is all arms and legs, yet possesses swanlike characteristics that are beginning to mature into the statuesque grace so many women often wish for.

The other young woman is petite; her features are almost birdlike in delicacy. She has a narrow, heart shaped face with a pointed chin, small nose and large, wide-set eyes. Though her face and form are of a sixteen or seventeen year old young woman, her size is of a girl barely entering puberty and she reaches only to the shoulders of her lanky friend. Both of them wear their hair in two long braids that hang down over the front of their shoulders like many of the women in the village and they have chosen similar decorations for them, consisting of large wooden beads that had been charred and carved to create a light and dark contrasting pattern.

The two girls are so ebullient that Catherine and Anika have to ask them to speak one at a time. At the same instant, they both try to speak again and fall into convulsive laughter that brings smiles to the women's faces. They recall the time in their lives when they used to be just as silly and carefree. At last the smaller girl regains her speaking ability.

"I am called Raonraon. This is Tsihskoko." Raonraon lays a hand on her still shaking friend's arm and she stifles the remainder of her laughing. Raonraon steps closer to Anika and her dark eyes open wide.

"Are you going to marry Sonehso:wa?" Her voice is conspiratorial and Anika laughs at her eager interest.

"Probably." The two girls look at each other and sigh dramatically.

"He is so handsome!" Raonraon cries.

"I wish a hunter like him would notice when I pass by…" Tsihskoko laments, placing her hand over her heart.

"Maybe if you had hair like Anika..." Raonraon looks at Catherine.

"What about you, Catherine? Will you marry Ratonhnhake:ton?" Despite not wanting to answer the question, Catherine is still swept up in the fun.

"Maybe some day."

"Better hurry. We know some women who have been chasing him for years! He never notices though… He is strange like that." Raonraon taps her finger on the side of her head, making Catherine laugh. She has seen how single minded Connor can be and it doesn't surprise her that if he had not found interest in a woman it simply would pass from his mind, making him oblivious.

"Well, Raonraon. He did say he would wait until I'm ready." Raonraon and Tsihskoko look at each other and gasp in romanticized wonder.

"Ohhh!" Tsihskoko wails. She stumbles over to the unoccupied half of their section and flops dramatically onto her back on the empty bed.  Raonraon explains.

"My sister has liked him for all her life but she will never admit it. She twisted her leg when she was helping her mother in the field just as he was returning one day during the war. He carried her to the healer and ever since… you see?" She gestures with both hands to her friend lying on the bed with her arms over her face. Catherine can easily picture an enamored younger version of Tsihskoko smiling up happily at Connor as he carries her. If he only knew he had such an ardent young admirer. It would probably make him exceedingly uncomfortable.

At the girls' insistence, Catherine and Anika allow them to style their hair into braids. They both feel they will look like children with their hair styled in such a way but the other adult women in the village wear braids with dignity so why shouldn't they? The girls start with Anika's hair and Catherine suspects their request was a clever ruse just to touch her friend's blonde hair without being rude. Anika's straight hair conforms to the will of their fingers, quickly becoming smooth, tight braids that neatly hang over her shoulders. Catherine's hair is not so compliant. Her curls escape and refuse to lie flat, much to the bewildered frustration of the girls and Anika's entertainment where she sits holding the ends of her braids so they will not unravel. Catherine patiently suggests that they wet her hair so that the curls will not be so stubborn. Tsihskoko runs to get water and Raonraon retrieves some items from her family's living area towards the middle of the longhouse, including a bone comb that she wields with a determined will. Catherine's wet hair cooperates with the girls and they are satisfied with the resulting braids. They then proceed to wind colored ties around the loose ends and decorate them with clusters of small river shells that dangle from the ties and clack together whenever they move.

Raonraon holds up two necklaces for Tsihskoko's inspection and she shakes her head.

"Wait until the ceremony." Raonraon nods in agreement and sets them aside. The girls stand up, ready to accompany their new friends to eat. They take Catherine's or Anika's arms and lead the women from the longhouse into the gathering dusk.

The large communal firepit is ablaze with an enormous fire and people are collecting together in clusters, chatting and bearing bowls of food. Laughter and conversation is all around and though at times the two women know they are being watched surreptitiously by the villagers, it is never outright or overt enough to make them uncomfortable. Always, they are greeted kindly by those they pass close to. The girls are careful not to mention the upcoming adoption, choosing to introduce them as special guests in their longhouse. They give off a strong air of pride about the honor, their easy laughter and conviviality keeping Catherine and Anika relaxed among so many strangers. When Connor and Sonehso:wa show up it is somewhat of a surprise, for the women had been distracted enough by the girls' efforts to not be constantly searching the crowd for them.

Sonehso:wa is the first to comment on their new hairstyles, doing so with a hearty laugh at the sight of them and a quick kiss to Anika's lips, which are pinched into a narrow frown at his obvious amusement. The young girls titter merrily with their hands over their mouths. Connor lifts one of Catherine's braids and slides his hand down to the bottom.

"I like this. You look good with braids." Catherine snatches the end of the braid from his fingers with a rattle of shells and looks at her feet, embarrassed, sending the girls into further giggles.  "I see you have already started to blend in, no doubt with the help of these two." Connor nods at the two girls, acknowledging their handiwork. The two of them positively preen under his approval, making Catherine and Anika unable to hold onto their discomfiture regarding their new hairstyles.

No additional mention is made of the reason for the night's celebratory events. Catherine is relieved to avoid further attention being drawn to them and they are free to wander or sit and eat where they please, meeting people as they pass by. Raonraon and Tsihskoko quietly move away to let Sonehso:wa and Connor be with the women but they are never very far and keep a close watch on their charges in case they are needed.

After the majority in attendance finish eating the various types of corn dishes, freshly fire roasted fish and game, the women quickly and efficiently take the bowls away.  Drums and flutes are produced and many villagers join in dancing to the rhythmic music and singing. The atmosphere is one of fun and family, a relaxed community event that serves to bring everyone together. People are scattered about socializing, watching the dancing and music, many smoking tobacco.  A group of children are gathered around an animated storyteller who jumps around as he speaks, making the youngest ones scream and laugh.

Eventually, the crowd thins out as families start to meander back to their longhouses to prepare for bed. Raonraon and Tsihskoko are nowhere to be seen so the two couples take the opportunity to walk the long way around the village along the river on their way to the Bear longhouse. They keep their goodnights short and their kisses even shorter, knowing the longer they linger the more difficult it will be to separate.

"Here you are!" Tsihskoko exclaims when Anika and Catherine walk inside the longhouse. Raonraon straightens from spreading out some furs on one of the sleeping areas.

"Ori:te'hiyo gave us some new furs for your beds. I think she is sad that you are not at her hearth."

"We'll be sure to thank her for her generosity." Anika says, recognizing the furs as the ones Connor had brought from the cabin.  Catherine nods in agreement and adds her gratitude.

"And thank you, both of you, for doing this. And this." She gestures to the beds and then raises up both of her braids with a smile.

"If you need anything during the night I am there and she is there." Raonraon points towards the center of the longhouse and then to the far end. Catherine starts to take out the shells from her hair to return them to the girls.  "Those are for you. A gift for my sisters." Raonraon insists, shaking her head and putting her hands behind her back. Tsihskoko smiles and hugs both of them shyly, followed quickly by Raonraon.

"Tomorrow we will show you everything!" The two girls scamper off to their families and Catherine and Anika sit on the two beds made up on opposite sides of the aisle. They squint across the space at each other in the semidarkness as the fires are allowed to die down, listening to the many sounds of the night: families settling in, a quiet hum of subdued conversation and whispers, the rustle of clothing and furs, a baby crying in the distance, a laugh quickly hushed, the subtle yet distinct sounds of coupling and the river rushing by outside. Catherine picks up her furs and crosses to Anika, who silently moves over to make room for her. They lie facing each other and don't need to speak to know they are sharing the same strange mix of emotions. They will be starting yet another chapter in their lives and neither of them knows what to expect from it. Thoroughly exhausted from the day's events and emotional ups and downs, it isn't long before they fall asleep, taking comfort in each other's presence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Guide and Disclaimer
> 
> I don't claim to have any in-depth knowledge of the culture and practices of the Kanien'keha:ka or any other Haudenosaunee tribes. The hours of research I have done and the native people I have been in indirect contact with have yielded some very basic information, yet in order to bring my story alive I have attempted to fill in the very large remaining gaps with my imagination. I've done my best to be as respectful as possible in these endeavors. If I have offended anyone please do not take it personally, for I mean absolutely no disrespect to my native readers or the Haudenosaunee as a whole. If there is something that you know is wrong do not hesitate to PM me and let me know.
> 
> Kahionhatenion- brother to Teiowi:sonte from The Tyranny of King Washington who, according to the Assassin's Creed Wiki, are actual members of Connor's tribe. I take this to mean they are not hybridized, fictional people formed from both Washington's and Connor's minds via the vision created by the Apple.
> 
> Katsi'tenhiyo- (pronounced similar to gah-jee-dun-ee-yoh or gah-see-dun-ee-yoh*) means "good/ nice/ beautiful flower," 8 years old, daughter of Sonehso:wa's father and second wife Ori:te'hiyo, Sonehso:wa's half sister
> 
> Oia:ner- means "clan mother"
> 
> Onkwahsotha (pronounced oon-gwah-soh-tah), means "our grandmother," a respectful title for a Clan Mother
> 
> Ori:te'hiyo- (pronounced oh-lee-tay-ee-yoh or oh-ree-tay-ee-yoh*) means "good/ nice/ beautiful dove" -my attempt at adding a common suffix to the word Ori:te' which means "dove" in Kanien'keha. Sonehso:wa's step-mother
> 
> Raonraon (pronounced similar to lah-oon-lah-oon or rah-ooh-rah-oon*) means "hummingbird," 16 years old
> 
> Tsihskoko (pronounced similar to jee-skoh-koh or see-skoh-koh*), means "robin," 17 years old
> 
> *According to Native-Languages.org the "R" sound can be either pronounced as "R" or "L" depending on the dialect, so some of Connor's contemporaries may have pronounced his name as Lah-don-ha-gay-don. "Ts" can be pronounced similarly to how it is in "tsunami," like the "j" in "jar" in Kanien'keha or slightly differently in a different dialect.


	17. Release

Release

 

Tsihskoko and Raonraon hold true to their promise, waking Catherine and Anika early the next morning with whispered giggles and shy hands touching their arms. After a light breakfast of crushed corn porridge the girls take them on a tour of the village and its surrounding fields and orchards. The teenagers are aflutter with excitement and boundless energy as they parade the two women about, introducing them to whomever they come in contact with. When the Bear Clan Mother had assigned them to Catherine and Anika, she had also given them permission to skip their duties in the fields in exchange for teaching the women. Tsihskoko and Raonraon are excited both to educate and to be free of less enjoyable tasks for as long as they are allowed to continue, becoming exceptionally self satisfied whenever they introduce the women to their envious friends. Though they try their best, Anika and Catherine know it will take them a long time to sort out and remember the many complicated names of everyone they meet in the village.

The arable land surrounding the village spreads off to the north and west but the fields themselves cover the south and east facing sides of the rolling landscape.  There, the sun shines the brightest and longest over the course of the day. Women are scattered throughout several of the fields, planting seeds in mounds of dirt. Children as young as eight or nine are with them, holding bags of seeds or helping poke holes in the dirt with their fingers. While there is much to do, no one is hurrying or looking overburdened. Many hands are there to work and it seems that the task is being accomplished at a comfortable pace. Raonraon demonstrates how the seeds are planted, indicating the center of the mound as the place for planting corn, the very next ring for beans so the vines can climb the cornstalks and the outer area for squash, allowing its sprawling habit to surround the mound for easy access to all the produce.

In the distance, the sound of many axes chopping carries to the four women as they walk. The two younger girls lead them closer and the sound increases in volume as they draw near. It looks like almost all the men of the village are in this section of the forest and a large area is already clear of standing trees. All that is left are stumps and felled trees stripped of their bark. Smaller branches are scattered among the trunks and stacks of long, straight young trees are being collected together. The foursome stand near a stack of slender trees where a few wooden bowls and several jugs of water are propped in the shadow it casts.

"Here they are making a new field for planting next year. The trees will be cut up and brought to the village for firewood. Once that is done they will burn the area to clear it. All the trees there will be used to build longhouses or other things." Raonraon indicates one of the neat stacks of slender trees similar to the one they stand by as she narrates the scene for the women.  "The new bark is good for making many things..." She trails off as a tall, broad shouldered man who appears to be in his mid-fifties approaches them. He has long hair with a good amount of iron-grey mingled in it that hangs down his back and he has cast off his shirt like many of the other men to work at cutting down the trees. He carries his axe loosely by his side. There is something familiar to both of the women about his stride.

"Have you come to watch us all working hard?" The smile that crosses his face and touches his eyes, making them sparkle and accentuating the lines that crease his features, is the very same as Sonehso:wa's. Even his voice is similar. Tsihskoko stands jauntily and holds one hand out palm up, gesturing to the sweating man standing before them and saucily responding to him.

"If you call this working hard, then yes." The man throws his head back in a loud peal of laughter that comes from deep in his chest and there can be no question remaining about who he is. He looks at the two older women and speaks to them with humor in his voice.

"You be careful of these two. Always causing trouble and distracting the young men from their work." He smiles with fatherly affection at the girls and they roll their eyes at him. Turning from them, he addresses the women.  "Welcome to our village. I did not get to greet you before because I had duties to attend to. I am Gaiachoton. You must be the beautiful Jitkwa:'e my son could not stop speaking of and her equally beautiful wildcat sister. Ratonhnhake:ton does not speak much but Ori:te'hiyo says she has never seen such a lost boy until last night. Now I see why." Catherine blushes at his compliment and Anika lowers her head, suddenly bashful at his use of her very personal nickname given to her by Sonehso:wa. Hearing it come from the lips of her lover's father is strange, yet she is set at ease by the familiarity of it as well. Raonraon hands him a wooden bowl full of water and he takes it gratefully and drinks. Some of the other young men see that water is being distributed by the two young women and stop their work to saunter over. Gaiachoton notices the effect they are having on them and nods his head toward the incoming attention.

"You see? Do what you will, but go from here soon or no more work will be done this day." He gives them all one more good natured smile before returning the bowl with their traditional word of thanks and heading back to work. He bellows at the men with a wide, circular swing of his arm and they increase the pace of their swaggers to a fast jog to get water. Catherine picks up one of the jugs and Anika takes another bowl so that two men can be given water at a time. Gaiachoton stands a short distance away and watches the scene with his arms crossed and a half smile on his face. Most of the older men return to work once they have a drink and share some friendly words with the women, but a few of the younger ones try to linger too long at socializing. For them, Gaiachoton has more than a hard stare. He shouts over at the milling group and disperses the stragglers with a wave of his arm, giving the girls a meaningful look that they quickly obey. Catherine laughs over at the two young women as they move out of sight of the area.

"You don't have to worry about being noticed, it seems." she says. Raonraon scoffs at her words and crosses her arms under her breasts.

"They were not looking at me. I am like a child to them. They were looking at her." She tilts her head toward her tall friend. Catherine takes in the sight of Raonraon's small form, her shapeliness only accentuated by her posture, and laughs quietly, knowing her smallness only makes her more attractive.

"And I am taller than some of them. What man wants a woman to be bigger than he? They were looking at you two more than us." Tsihskoko laments. Anika's tinkling laugh quells any further words from the tall young woman.

"You are both pretty girls in your own ways. I saw many eyes looking at you more than us. Besides, we're taken and you're both available." Catherine elbows Anika.

"Gads, Ani! They're so young! Don't rush them." She leans forward to look at the two younger women. "Don't be foolish like me and run into the arms of the first handsome man who comes along. Wait for someone good. It's not worth the pain…" Anika snorts at Catherine's pessimism.

"And don't you act like all handsome men are bad. You were... particularly unfortunate." The two young women look confused and Catherine decides to tell them an abbreviated and glossed over version of her history. They are both sad and confused at her telling of it.

"Why did you not divorce him when he was unloving?" Catherine smiles at Tsihskoko's genuine confusion.

"Our ways are different from yours. Women do not have any power over men and men can do anything they want."

"That is not right! I would have thrown him out with only his things, to go back to his longhouse." Raonraon cries, scandalized.

"That's the problem, Raonraon. Everything was his, including the house. It would have been me with nothing and I had no other place to go. That's why I'm so grateful that Connor… Ratonhnhake:ton found me. He saved my life."

"You have a place now and if Ratonhnhake:ton is not good to you, you can throw him out!" Raonraon laughs with a flinging motion of her hands outward from her stomach. Tsihskoko covers her mouth and giggles.

"I doubt I'd find a reason to throw him out! He's very considerate, even if he's a bit stubborn at times."

"So are you…" Anika smirks, looking innocently at the trees as they walk and linking her arm with Catherine. Catherine smiles at her friend and the girls lead them back to the village.

The longhouse is surprisingly full of many women when they return, dressed in more detailed clothing than they had seen before with many of them having bear symbols or bear jewelry on their person. None are as decked out as the Clan Mother, who wears her beautiful wrap from the day before. She gives a stern look to the young women and they quickly usher Catherine and Anika to the group.

"We must prepare you for the adoption ceremony." The old woman intones, gesturing to the other gathered women. Several come forward and join with Raonraon and Tsihskoko in unbraiding Catherine and Anika's hair and helping them out of their clothing. Several more women bring over buckets of hot water from a nearby firepit. Anika and Catherine exchange confused looks and initially try to resist being undressed until the girls start to explain the process to them.

"You must be bathed and dressed in fine clothes to be presented to the clan. The women all help because you will be daughters and sisters to them." Catherine clings to her fabric shirt, afraid to reveal her nakedness. Anika uses her arm to cover her breasts and a hand to cover between her legs. An older, grandmotherly looking woman scolds them, gesturing to Anika's desperate attempts to stay covered and Catherine's grasp on her shirt.

"What's she saying?" Anika asks, her eyes wide and round. Raonraon translates.

"She says you should not hide your womanliness. You should be proud of it for it is the bearing of children and the giving of life that endows women with their strength." The old woman lightly touches her own breasts and continues speaking.

"She has suckled nine children and they in turn have borne children, making her proud and bringing her much honor."

"Nine!" Catherine exclaims, unable to imagine going through what she had endured nine times. The old woman turns to her and points a gnarled finger at Catherine's stomach. Raonraon continues to translate.

"She says you will bear children as well and they will bring you honor."

"Maybe someday." Catherine whispers softly. Raonraon steps behind her, starting to lift her shirt and Catherine isn't shocked when a gasp comes from her as her scars are exposed. The old woman makes a request and Raonraon whispers apologetically.

"I must show them." She strokes Catherine's arm and gathers her hair enough to move it over one shoulder before turning her around so that all of the women can see her back. A collective buzz runs through the group and several fingers touch her skin, tracing the scars gently. Catherine struggles for breath and Anika takes her hand as a tear rolls down her cheek. She is ashamed of her mutilated skin and feels like she is a spectacle in a travelling Curiosity Show. Raonraon pats her arm and quickly reaches up to wipe the tear away before anyone sees. It is a sweet gesture and Catherine smiles weakly at her.

"You are strong. That is proof." The young woman whispers, nodding reassuringly. Catherine is grateful the young woman knows her past, at least the larger picture of it and can understand why she is so upset. She collects herself and listens closer to the sounds the women are making as the group shuffles around to allow others to come close and touch her scars. Instead of expressions of disgust, she hears murmurs of approval and consideration. It settles her nerves just a little.  The Bear Clan Mother approaches and rests both of her hands firmly on Catherine's upper back.  She strokes them down the length of Catherine's scars, pressing her palms flat against them in several places, speaking softly.  Tsihskoko quietly whispers the translation to Catherine.

"Behold the marks of cruelty and hatred.  Be kept by them no longer, woman, for you stand naked and stripped of all that once was.  Be kept by them no longer."  The Bear Clan Mother lowers her hands from Catherine's skin and steps aside.

Some of the women move forward and start bathing Catherine where she stands beside Anika. Both of them are scrubbed vigorously from head to toe until their skin is pink.  Long, heavily embellished tunics are brought forward along with some soft, deerhide leggings and moccasins with beaded and embroidered pieces of hide sewn onto the tops. The tunics have depictions of bears worked into the design and fall to just below their knees, with dangling porcupine quills attached to the hem. In short order, the two women are dressed in their new clothing and their hair is braided and decorated with shells and wooden beads. Tsihskoko and Raonraon present them with the necklaces they had produced the night before. One of the women approaches with a thin, sharpened tool in her hand that looks like a large needle.

"You have no holes for ear ornaments." When she reaches up toward Catherine she jumps away with a gasp, raising her hands up in front of her face defensively. Her heart had been racing since the moment they had become surrounded by all these women. She had tolerated the undressing and the bathing, their hands on her and their fingers touching her scars but this is too much for her to endure. Anika's voice sounds as if she is speaking to her from under water and her fingers start to tingle as the longhouse becomes darker and much more claustrophobic within a few seconds. Gentle hands guide her to one of the sleeping areas and she sits numbly on the soft furs until her hearing and eyesight return to normal. Tsihskoko and Anika are sitting on either side of her and the woman with the sharp implement is standing patiently looking down at them.

"It only hurts for two or three days…" she is saying pragmatically. Anika takes Catherine's hand and confidently speaks up.

"I'll do it first and tell you what it's like." She beckons to the woman and she approaches, reaching out to take the soft lobe of Anika's ear in her fingers. Anika winces when the woman quickly thrusts the needle through her skin and again when she pushes an earring through the hole. The process is repeated on the other side and when it is done, Anika reaches up to touch her new baubles.

"It's not that bad. How do I look?" Anika says to Catherine, her voice tight and a little too buoyant.

"You're a terrible liar!" Catherine cries. Anika laughs and Catherine finds herself calming down a little. It is not the idea of having piercings that frighten her but rather, the adoption ceremony. She is allowing herself to be incorporated into a group of people she hardly knows. Not only is she taking on the title "of the Bear Clan" into her name, she is also making a commitment to an entire clan of people, all the tribes of Kanien'keha:ka and the entire Haudenosaunee collective. She is stepping into a new life, a new way and a new existence. When she had agreed to it she had done so out of her love for Anika and Connor. _When will I start doing things just for myself? Why am I so reluctant to take a chance on something that could be good for me?_ "They are pretty," she admits, lightly touching one of the glass beads dangling from Anika's reddened lobes. She turns and faces the woman who pierced her.

"Do it. It's only pain, after all…  I've managed before." Catherine says, steeling herself. The woman nods, as if she never expected any further protest to be made. To Catherine's surprise, though it is painful, it's nothing compared to what she has suffered already and she reminds herself that this is something she is choosing to do.

Compared to all the fuss over getting them bathed and dressed, the actual ceremony is cursory and only mildly eventful. Catherine and Anika stand before the gathered women and The Clan Mother speaks to them. There is a brief period of time where all the women appear saddened. Some even weep loudly. Then they start showering Catherine and Anika with affection and the mood changes to that of happiness and good cheer. There is much embracing and chatter, after which, the ceremony appears to end.

"What happened in there?" Catherine asks the girls when they are no longer the center of attention. Tsihskoko smiles.

"You were adopted! When the clan loses members either from sickness or in warfare, all grieve. The ones who have lost children or a mate or a brother or sister are allowed to claim new members as their own children or siblings and they are adopted as family. You two are special. No one has died within the past year so you were not adopted into just one family. You are the daughters of all the clan, for we have all lost people we care about before but now we have you both to bring extra joy to us all. That is why we are sad and then happy."

"Is it usually done with only the women present?" Anika asks.

"It is always the women who adopt. Never the men!" Raonraon says, laughing, as if the very idea is preposterous.

Outside, the women linger near the river, spending more time asking the two girls questions and listening as they explain some of the finer details of adoption.  Catherine and Anika are rather horrified at the concept of what seems to be akin to a war of mourning, carried out by the warriors of the Haudenosaunee and particularly the Kanien'keha:ka when a clan's numbers are depleted for any reason. Captives are taken from neighboring tribes who are at war with the Haudenosaunee and if they survive the harsh and demoralizing treatment, are often adopted into the clan and accepted as family immediately. It seems extreme and cruel, yet Tsihskoko and Raonraon don't view it that way.

"The women and children are always adopted but the men must prove that they are strong and brave, never showing pain or falling down." Tsihskoko says sternly.

"If they are not strong, we do not want them." Raonraon adds.  They speak in a matter of fact way, unable to see it through Anika and Catherine's eyes.

"Do any ever run away?"  Catherine asks.  The two girls shake their heads.  

"Never. They become family. They have honor and love. Some men even become chiefs within the tribe." Raonraon smiles as she finishes speaking.  Catherine reflects on their two young guides' perception of men being the ones who reign supreme in her world. It is such a foreign and nonsensical concept for them. _How can I view something that seems equally unfair and cruel as more wrong than what Francisco and Sergio had attempted to carry out with me, using their power to cruelly manipulate the laws of marriage to their own ends?_  She knows that it is different, for her husband and father in law had cruel intentions and dishonest goals. At least the people captured and adopted here face a brighter future for their pains.

Anika, too, is lost in her ruminations. Her train of thought is much different, for she is remembering Sonehso:wa's stoic containment of pain after his terrible injury at the hands of Sergio's lackeys. He had refused to acknowledge that he was limited in any capacity and only at Anika's pestering insistence did he submit to the luxury of lying down. After that he was all business and had not accepted any additional concessions. She wonders if it is because men are held to such high levels of expectations for bravery and endurance. He is a product of his culture and anything else would have been a deviation of normal behavior for a Haudenosaunee man.

The sun makes its way down toward the horizon and eventually the village bustles once again with the returning people.  Their conversation is interrupted by the appearance of Connor and Sonehso:wa. The men approach them from along the river, leaving the group of men they had been walking with and ignoring the laughing and rowdy calls behind them. When they near the women, they both take in their new clothing with very different expressions on their faces. Sonehso:wa smiles widely, his teeth showing as he laughs approvingly at them both. Connor is almost expressionless, his eyes moving from Anika to Catherine and looking her over from head to toe. Before she can stop herself Catherine takes a step toward him, drawn by the way his heart is written upon his eyes. Tsihskoko stops in mid sentence as she had tried to include an additional argument for adopting in their customary way. She reaches behind Anika and jabs Raonraon's arm with her finger, motioning silently to her friend as the men come closer. They slip away unnoticed by the women and quietly acknowledged for their discretion by the men.

Both of the men's hair is wet and they appear to have just returned from washing in the river. They must have been out working all day and the girls had not happened to take them where they were.

"Look at these two beautiful Bears." Sonehso:wa exclaims, making a dramatic gesture with his hands that encompasses both Catherine and Anika. Connor looks at his friend calmly, dragging out the silence until Sonehso:wa scowls at him. Sonehso:wa faces Anika and Catherine as a hint of a smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

"Now we will have to beg the wife of my father to entreat your Clan Mother on our behalf. Maybe she will accept us as good enough for you." Anika laughs at his words but Catherine holds out her hands toward Connor with worry in her eyes.  He steps closer to take them. She draws him close and abruptly moves in for a hug instead.

"What is this? Are you well?" Connor asks.  Catherine nods, her face pressed against his chest. She leans back and looks up at him. He moves his hand to touch one of her new earrings.

"They saw my scars. All of the women of… of my clan." Connor smiles at her ownership of her new family.

"And?" he prompts, worried.

"And it wasn't as horrible as I was expecting. It was hard, but they didn't find them… repellent or disgusting." Connor's face becomes creased with concern at her words.

"They are not disgusting. Your scars are important. They are part of you and always will be. They are a mark of your survival and you must accept that." Catherine lowers her face against Connor's chest and thinks about what he said. He smells like the river, the hide clothing he wears and the leather of the straps that so often cross his chest even though today there are none, for he is not wearing his bow. The warm scent of his skin is faint, washed away by the water of the river but there is enough of it, combined with his presence, to comfort her.

"I've missed you. We haven't been apart for this long since you found me."  Connor holds her close in answer.

"There will be many times when we are apart. You will get used to it, as I will, though it will be hard at first." When Catherine steps back from him, Anika and Sonehso:wa are nowhere to be seen.

"Where…" She looks around briefly.

"Inside. Come with me… we will walk along the river." He leads her toward the water's edge and Catherine removes her woven shoes and carries them to walk barefoot in the cool sand. The water laps along the edge of the shore where the dry, yellowed stalks of last year's cattails stand.  Farther out, the river rushes over large, submerged stones, heading south and east where a branch of it will eventually tumble over the cliff beside Connor's cabin and continue on toward New York. A man nods at them as he lifts a basket of silvery fish, some still flopping inside, and starts to carry his catch toward the village. Partly around a bend beyond the edge of the wooden palisade that surrounds the village, Connor leads Catherine up onto a large, flat rock that juts out over the flow of the river. Together they sit, with Catherine ensconced comfortably between Connor's knees in the way she likes best. It is a protective pose and she never fails to feel calm and relaxed within the confines of his long, muscular limbs. He covers the backs of her hands with his and brings each palm to his mouth to kiss before crossing her arms over her in an embrace. Closing her eyes, Catherine leans back against him and he rests his cheek against the top of her head. Though they can still hear the sounds of the village at times over the watery babble of the river, the feeling of being alone is strong here.

"I could stay like this forever…" Catherine sighs. Connor agrees with a low, soft hum in his throat and he plays with the fringed edge of her sleeve.

"There is something I would like to show you some day soon, if you can break away from Anika and your two guides." He says quietly.

"I don't know what's proper… I don't want to offend anyone."

"It does not have to happen tomorrow. Just… soon." He caresses her hands in his and it isn't until the sun is fully down that they make their way back to the village and say their goodbyes outside the longhouse.

Anika is not at their section but sitting with several families at one of the communal fires inside. Catherine quietly joins her and is warmly welcomed by everyone there. Someone passes her a wooden bowl filled with grains, corn and thick chunks of white fish and she takes it gratefully, her stomach rumbling loudly enough for Anika to hear. Raonraon is across the fire, sitting with her parents and a small boy who must be her brother, for he shares the same delicate features as she and her mother. She waves and Catherine warmly waves back. Before long, the conversation at the fire becomes a mixture of English and Kanien'keha and Catherine and Anika are not singled out as much. It is surprisingly calming to lose some of her popularity, though at times either she or Anika is directly spoken to during the time spent eating and while stories are being told. Catherine takes comfort in the growing anonymity that constant exposure brings them. The small children still steal glances often in their direction but to the adults, they are simply two more Kanien'keha:ka women gathered for a meal with the rest of the clan.

***

More time passes than Catherine had expected before she can comfortably bring herself to detach from Tsihskoko and Raonraon's company. Anika had known she was looking for an opportunity and had encouraged her to take advantage of what seemed to be a day that was less busy for most in the village. Much of the planting is done and for over a week, both Anika and Catherine had participated in the sowing process, as was expected from them as women of the tribe. They found the process a little tiring by the end of the day, yet they are gratified by the fulfilling work, knowing they are supporting the entire tribe with their labors just as everyone else does. Connor and Sonehso:wa had been busy as well, joining with the men to hunt and work at bringing down trees and lighting the controlled fires that would clear the new field to prepare it for planting. Since the village had only been in its current location for a short time, much clearing and preparing of fields remains so everyone is always busy with many tasks. Days where a rest can be taken are enjoyed by almost everyone as a time to socialize and relax or work on personal things. So after a morning of sitting with several women taking turns teaching or learning each others' sewing techniques, Anika had stated that she might go work on a project of her own and suggests with more than a hint of meaning that Catherine could take a walk outside.

Catherine takes her leave and ponders Anika's secretive project she has been working on. As she walks she loops the curly ends of her loose hair over her fingers. As much as having braids had been very convenient for working, she still feels most comfortable with her hair down and not pulled tightly into braids. Anika had taken quite well to wearing them, for she always preferred having her hair styled in her braided bun so this is a simpler variation that keeps her fine strands out of her face. Since Catherine knows Connor likes her braids, she had worn them regularly but today she just wants the freedom. She had overheard Anika asking the girls and other women what the traditional wedding ceremony is like and what is involved. She seems to be very serious about marrying Sonehso:wa. More than once, Catherine had seen Ori:te'hiyo speaking with their Clan Mother and looking in their direction or rather, Anika's direction.

Inside the Turtle longhouse where Connor has been staying with Sonehso:wa's family, Catherine finds Ori:te'hiyo and Katsi'tenhiyo sitting together. Ori:te'hiyo is watching her daughter work on a beaded section of hide for a pair of moccasins. As Catherine approaches, the child looks up with such a look of stubborn frustration on her face that she can't help but smile.

"Those look nice, Katsi'tenhiyo." The child scowls at her work and mumbles at Catherine.

"They are ugly. I do not like doing this."

"You must do it and you will do it." Ori:te'hiyo says sternly to her daughter. The child hunches down and resumes working on her beading. Ori:te'hiyo looks up and smiles kindly at Catherine.

"Catherine, what brings you here? Are you looking for Ratonhnhake:ton?"

"Yes. Do you know where he is?"

"He went out with my son to set some snares early this morning. Sonehso:wa wants to catch some foxes and rabbits before they shed their white coats. They will return soon. Will you stay and wait with us?" Her smile is welcoming and Catherine is happy to have been invited to stay. She likes the woman very much and feels loved in return.

"Of course! Maybe I can help with some sewing?" she says as she lowers herself down next to the woman.

"Maybe you can…" Ori:te'hiyo says and gets up to retrieve a large, woven basket from the shelf above their sleeping area.  "Is Anika near?" she asks Catherine.

"She's working on something in our longhouse... and being very coy about it." Ori:te'hiyo smiles softly.

"Good. She will not see this then." She raises up the lid of the basket to reveal several white rabbit pelts inside.

"It does not surprise me that she hides her work. She is making something for my son. It is traditional at a wedding for a woman to show her skills of making clothing and cooking as a way to indicate her abilities as a wife. The man shows his ability to provide for the woman and future children by presenting her with hides and furs, sometimes tools if he is skilled with them."

"I knew it! I knew it had to do with them getting married. I think… I think Anika is keeping quiet about it because she knows I'm not ready to make that kind of commitment yet."

"You are right. She is very excited but does not want to hurt you because of it. She is afraid you will be sad when Sonehso:wa comes to live with her and you will not have a companion as well."

"But she shouldn't be! I want them to get married."

"And she wants you to marry Ratonhnhake:ton." Ori:te'hiyo says.  Catherine lowers her head.  "Why will you not? He loves you. Is there something lacking in him? He is a good hunter, a strong fighter and a brave man." Catherine shakes her head, not looking up from the floor. Ori:te'hiyo looks at her young daughter and holds her hands out for the beaded pieces of hide. "That is enough for today. You can go play now." Before her mother can take back her words, Katsi'tenhiyo is on her feet and running out of the longhouse as fast as she can without a backward glance.  Now alone on their area, Ori:te'hiyo turns her attention back to Catherine.  "Now. Tell me what is darkening your spirit." Catherine looks into the woman's eyes as she sets the pieces her daughter had been working on to the side and reaches to take her hands in both of hers. Her warmth is kind and genuine and it is obvious she loves Connor as she loves Sonehso:wa.

"I…" Catherine feels tears stinging her eyes. "I love him as well but…I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Getting hurt again."

"He will not harm you."

"I know he won't but I… I can't explain it. I can't… I can't trust anymore. But that's not it either. I trust him but with what happened to me… my mind and body play tricks on each other. I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'm sorry I'm too afraid to give my life to him. Once was enough and look what it got me..." Her tears fall and the older woman moves closer and pulls Catherine's head down to her bosom, cradling her like a small child and stroking her cheek.

"No, my young Bear cousin, do not be sorry." Catherine takes a shuddering breath and hugs Ori:te'hiyo tightly.  "You have had more suffering than most women I know. Your people's ways are strange and hard to understand. But I cannot believe that what your husband did to you was right by any laws. He has a corrupted spirit and I understand how what you went through can make you not want to trust anymore." Ori:te'hiyo's voice is soothing and Catherine closes her eyes and takes comfort from her as she continues to speak.  "But I see it from the other side too, as the one who wants to be loved in return. When Sonehso:wa first came here with his father as a boy, he did not trust me or anyone else. He loves me now but, oh! It was many summers before he came to love me as he does. He did not call me mother until he was more than twenty years old. Over five years it took! There was a deep wound in him that I feared would never heal. I still see it in his eyes sometimes. In Ratonhnhake:ton too. He is a man with powerful emotions that run deeper than the river but he does not show them.  He keeps them hidden and only after much searching do those who are closest to him catch a glimpse.  Do you see that in him?" Catherine nods against her chest, seeing the look that Connor gets when he is preoccupied in her mind's eye.  She sits back and wipes her eyes.

"Yes.  I know it well."

"Then you know that he is strong for many, for _us_ , for _you_ , but he must be strongest for himself or he will fail.  The changes the past makes to you will always be there but it is up to you to keep them from holding you back from what you want or from taking a chance again. Has anything stopped Ratonhnhake:ton? He could have let his losses and failures stop him long ago but still he _fights!_  He may hold back the true depth of his spirit from you but it is not for lack of love on his part.  Do not let _your_ past keep you from happiness."

"Oh, Ori:te'hiyo! It's so easy to say!"

"I know. But think on it.  It is up to you to allow your spirit to be free." She smiles and touches Catherine's cheek with a cool hand. Catherine takes it and squeezes it tightly, looking at her lap. She takes a calming breath and her eyes fall on the white rabbit pelts in the basket. _Why can't I be brave like Anika?_ She is ready to cast her entire life aside for Sonehso:wa. But with all that has happened, giving up her past is an easy decision; it has nothing for her anymore. Suddenly Catherine becomes very still. _Shouldn't it be the same for me? Why would I want to return to New York? Do I miss the prestige I'd had as a lady of status? Is it riches? No. Is it ease? Maybe. But what am I willing to sacrifice for an easy life? My freedom, my rights and my dignity?_ The last thing she wants is to become the property of a man and that is exactly what waits for her in New York. The lifestyle of a rich, white colonist, or even a poor one is still one of utter subservience to a man. If she remains single her options become even more limited and her life that much more dangerous, for she would have no protection.

"I'll think on it, I promise," Catherine says at last.

"Good." Ori:te'hiyo looks into Catherine's eyes and smiles reassuringly.

"So what are you going to make with these white furs?" Catherine asks. She suspects it must be for Anika and suddenly she wants her best friend to know that she should not hide her happiness for her sake. _Are we not sisters? Should we not rejoice in her union together?_ Ori:te'hiyo's smile widens and she lifts the fur from the basket. Instead of several individual pelts, it is many sewn carefully together.

"I want to make clothing for Anika to wear for the wedding. It is tradition for the man and woman being wed to wear white furs so they stand out for all to see. She tells me you help make the clothing she wears. I like how they are shaped. Will you help me make her some?"

"Of course I will! But I'm not very good at using beads yet. Even little Katsi'tenhiyo is better than me. I don't want to ruin the design."

"We will work together on her outfit." Ori:te'hiyo explains her vision for the clothing and asks for Catherine's input on what Anika would like. They decide to keep it a traditional Kanien'keha:ka style and modify some details so that it fits her similarly to her hide shirt does. As they sketch out ideas on the dirt floor, they add in a bear design made of green and black glass beads on the chest of the tunic and green embroidery along the neckline and hems. While Catherine starts to work on the pattern, Ori:te'hiyo grinds up what she needs to make a green dye for the embroidery and the lacing that will hold it all together.

As she works, Catherine's thoughts fall back to her conundrum. She wonders why she weeps for her past and for what might have been. Her life so much simpler in the village, far from the sexist hierarchy of her race. Though women here hold power it isn't done cruelly. The men are respected and honored and put in places of authority as war chiefs and leaders. No man in New York or anywhere else would do that for a woman, yet she hesitates to leave it behind. And Connor continues to wait for her. He has made it clear he will wait forever but Catherine wonders if he will grow weary of her procrastination and look elsewhere for a companion. The thought makes her stomach curdle in fear and sadness. Her hands slow until she sits hunched over the skin side of the white furs, the charred drawing stick she holds sitting forgotten across her knees. Connor would do anything for her. _Should I not be willing to do the same?_ Bringing her left hand to her chest, she thinks of all that has transpired between them in the nearly three months they have known each other. She has changed from fearing everything about him to trusting him with her life.  A love she had never known existed in reality has blossomed in her heart. Only one physical barrier lies between them and Catherine defiantly prods it with her love.

Sonehso:wa's laugh carries into the longhouse from outside and both Catherine and Ori:te'hiyo scramble to fold the white fur pattern pieces and hide their work. Catherine snatches up one of Katsi'tenhiyo's moccasin designs and pretends to be admiring it while Ori:te'hiyo lounges in a semblance of idleness against the side of the bed with one arm draped over the lidded basket, looking for all the world like a proud mother listening to praise over her daughter's work. They are the embodiment of innocence when Connor and Sonehso:wa walk over to them.

"Oh, my son, will you put this basket up?" Ori:te'hiyo says to Sonehso:wa. He reaches down for the basket and places it on the shelf for her without question. Catherine looks studiously at the beaded piece in her hands and lets her hair fall down to hide her smile. She wants to laugh but it would spoil their surprise. She hands the piece to Ori:te'hiyo.

"Your daughter does beautiful work; she has a good teacher. If only I were so skilled. Thank you for letting me sit with you."

"Of course." Ori:te'hiyo makes a kindly gesture with her hand and gets to her feet as Catherine does. Connor stands quietly with his hands couched loosely in front of him and his shoulders back. He looks from Catherine to Ori:te'hiyo and back again.  "Go! You do not need my permission!" Ori:te'hiyo laughs merrily and Sonehso:wa smirks at his friend. Connor looks sheepish until Catherine laughs and moves to his side. She smiles up at him and takes his elbow daintily as if she is a lady in fine silks about to perambulate with a dapper suitor and not a woman with wayward curls dressed in hides and holding the arm of a Kanien'keha:ka warrior. As they are leaving the longhouse, Sonehso:wa calls out to them, his voice dripping with false concern.

"You will miss playing tewa'a:raton, brother!" Connor raises his arm over his head and makes a dismissive swatting motion through the air without turning around or answering, causing Sonehso:wa to howl with laughter. Catherine looks up at Connor as they exit into the sunshine, her face confused. Connor answers her unspoken question.

"A game played with netted sticks for catching and throwing a ball. They play often. I will not be missed."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Speak no more of it."

The sun is dappled as it shines through the branches of the widely spaced trees on the hillside. The temperature is comfortable and Connor and Catherine shed their jackets as they walk through the forest. The world seems poised to break from its long winter sleep, lending a static, waiting quality to the air that builds into an agitated droning in Catherine's body. Combined with her recent ruminations and her curiosity regarding what Connor has to tell her, the tension makes her restless. A small, house-like structure with several round holes along the top edge standing on a wooden pole between some trees comes into sight up ahead. When they climb up the hill and draw closer a soft cooing sound emanates from it, building and ebbing in purring waves. It is a pigeon coop.

"This is how the Brotherhood can reach me if something happens while I am gone and they need to send for me or get instructions. I have pigeons from Davenport, Boston and New York in there. My contacts in those locations have birds from here and the other places. When I can, I take back birds or eggs from each place so I am not left without access to the cities." Connor hooks his jacket on a nearby branch, unlatches and opens a small door in the side of the coop and reaches in. When he withdraws his hand, a pigeon rests in it. It stirs and raises its wings but he quickly covers the bird with his other hand to keep it from flying away. There is a tiny piece of green string tied around one of its legs protruding from between his fingers. Connor angles the bird so Catherine can see it. She drapes her jacket over Connor's and returns to gently caress the soft, iridescent grey feathers of the bird's neck and wing with one finger.  "The green string means this one is from Davenport. Yellow is Boston and red is New York. There is one in here that has blue on it and that means it is from this village. It came from Boston in November with a message tied to its leg." Carefully, he releases the bird back into the coop and latches the door.

"What did it say?"

"Some Loyalist refugees from New York and Quebec had relocated to the newly independent colony of Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia and found that there were no supplies for making shelters before winter was to come. All they had were metal hinges and locks. The trees were gone and there was nothing to build with or burn for fuel. There were talks of possible rioting and my Assassins there had sent to Boston for help. I traveled to Boston and then to the island on the _Aquila_ and brought additional resources in with me so they could survive the winter."

"You gave aid to the Crown?"

"We helped people." He gently corrects her. Catherine quietly looks into the coop and observes the birds.

"Hmm. Well, Captain Generous, how do these birds know to come here or go to those cities?" Her voice is all sass and she smiles as she asks him but he remains serious with his answer.

"They return to where they are born. It is the fastest way to communicate with my contacts and for them to reach me but because there are only one or two birds from each location, we must use them for only the most urgent communication. It is why I did not use one for Anika. Though her situation was urgent, it was not known Assassin business. I still regret that decision." Catherine's smile falters at his confession.

"Why? As you said, you didn't know the Templars were involved at the time and she's safe now." Connor reaches his hands to Catherine's arms and draws her close to him in a hug. His sudden change in demeanor is unnerving and she wonders what disturbs him so much about not sending a bird. She lays her head on his chest and holds onto his waist. Connor rests his hand on the side of her head and softly works his fingertips into her wild curls. His voice rumbles in her ear.

"After you realized you were pregnant you started to drift away from me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I thought if you were not so worried about Anika it would have helped you deal with your sorrow better and accept both your pregnancy and me." Catherine moves back so she can look up at him.

"I'm so sorry I made you worry. I felt lost... buried under the weight of my troubles. I knew what you felt for me but I couldn't let it in. I was too afraid of becoming a needless burden to you."

"You would never be a burden. Do you accept me now?" Catherine smiles at him and laughs, trying to dispel the oddness of their conversation. He is steering it somewhere and she finds herself worried about where he is taking it.

"You know I do. Why ask me?"

"Because showing you this…" He gestures to the coop and his features become grave.  "… is a reminder that eventually I will need to return to my duties to the Brotherhood. I cannot stay here forever, though I wish there were no more wars to fight and we could simply live our lives … and raise a family in peace." Connor sighs and touches Catherine's cheek as a tiny crease forms between her eyebrows in response to his words. He doggedly continues, knowing the rest of what he has to say will not come easily.  "WildCat, I want you to stay here in the village when I leave. You will be safer here. Sonehso:wa knew about he coop for years but he didn't know the true meaning of my correspondence. Now he does. He has agreed to check for messages while I am gone and I will keep you both informed of where I am as often as I can."

A crushing weight presses on Catherine's heart and she can't breathe because of it. While she has already fallen in love with his village and the people in it who so warmly welcomed her, the thought of waiting months for him to return, wondering if he is wounded or killed horrifies her. _No! My place is with him no matter what dangers it involves!_  She shakes her head slowly and looks up at him, holding his waist.

"I don't want to be safe. I want to be with you!" Her voice is a harsh, resolute whisper. If Connor did not know her better he would think she is angry with him. Maybe she is, just a little, but he knows it is an anger borne of the deepest form of passion and not shallow selfishness. He had anticipated her reaction and had prepared an additional argument.

"Anika and Sonehso:wa will be here. Do you not want to be with them as they begin their lives together and start a family? You and Anika are sisters now and Sonehso:wa will provide for you in my absence."

"Of course I want to be here for them. I love Anika and she's always been a sister to me. But… sisters often have to separate when each one starts a new life. I accepted the dangerous path you chose a long time ago. Please don't cut me out of it now!" Catherine cries.  Connor's features constrict at her words. His thumb moves slowly over her cheekbone and his voice is soft when he replies to her.

"I am not cutting you out of my life. I want nothing more than to have you by my side, always, but I refuse to put your life at risk. If it is known that the woman I care for is near, you could be come a target, a way to weaken me. I will not…" Catherine interrupts him and grabs his hand from her face.

"Then so be it! All the more reason to hold fast to your convictions! I haven't come back from _Hell_ to stand aside when stormy weather threatens to dampen the day! You've taught me to be strong, to not give up, to weigh what really matters… Do you think I'll just set that all aside and hide here while you face death? I won't do it! I'm tired of men making decisions for me when I'm perfectly capable of making them myself!" She balls her hands into fists and presses them against his chest. Her next words come out in a choking whisper, the last of her anger falling from her as a sickening sense of desperation takes its place. She appeals to him with as much earnesty as she can muster.  "Don't ask me to stay here, so far from you... Ratonhnhake:ton, _please_!"

Catherine had been strong until her emotions got the better of her. Tears burn her eyes and threaten to fall down her face but she lowers her head and blinks hard to control them. She is ashamed of herself for crying.   _But how could he abandon me when he has to leave?_ She raises her face to him and clenches her teeth, quelling her tears and steeling her emotions. To her surprise, instead of an expression of pity or disgust on his face Connor appears… intrigued. His large hands close around her fists on his chest and he searches into her eyes for some time in silence. Catherine stares right back at him, unwilling to bend under his scrutiny, though her lips tremble and she has to press them together to stop it.

Connor is shocked by Catherine's vehemence. He is proud of her and in a way had hoped she would stand up to him on the matter. Her submissiveness in some situations had been disturbing but the instances when she fights are almost frightening in intensity. It is taking considerable effort on her part to do this; she is breathing hard and color has flushed her cheeks. Her eyes shine with unshed tears and she swallows as if in fear of his reaction. But all of that seems to recede into the background because the sound of his true name, spoken from her lips in such a heartfelt way, repeats in his head like a chant. She had only addressed him with his true name on rare occasions and each time had been rather amusing as she ran roughshod over the pronunciation. This time, it is as if she has been saying it all her life. Its syllables had flowed from her tongue like the sweetest honey and he yearns to hear it again. He finds it difficult to return to the issue at hand.

"If you understand the danger that surrounds me, my men, and what we do I will not force you to stay. But believe me when I say I _will_ prevent you from actively joining me in any kind of close combat or high risk situations that will directly put you in danger. You _must_ accept that and abide by my decisions regarding what qualifies as dangerous. I will not compromise. Will you do this?" His expression seems to indicate that if Catherine does not agree to his terms he will leave her here when he needs to go, no matter how difficult it proves to be. Catherine has little doubt that Sonehso:wa would detain her by any means possible at Connor's behest if she attempts to follow.  Her mind runs wild thinking of Sonehso:wa holding her tightly while she screams and fights him as Connor rides away from her.

"Yes, I promise I will." Catherine's eyes at last fall to her feet and she is ashamed that she pushed back in defiance like an insolent and ungrateful shrew of a woman. Connor uses his hand on her jaw to lift her eyes back to his. His face is no longer so hard and his voice is resonant with compassion.

"I would not require a promise of that sort from you if it were not for your protection. I do not seek to make petty decisions on your behalf. You are your own woman and I have no right to take your freedom from you.  But you are my light, WildCat, and I would surely be extinguished if something happened to you.  I cannot put your safety below my responsibility to the brotherhood." Connor's words rob Catherine of her breath and her speech. All she can do is look up at him, into the vastness of his eyes, and allow herself to be swallowed whole. His love crashes through her, consuming her until there is no longer delineation between them.  When Catherine can finally take a shuddering breath, she throws herself against Connor, squeezing him around his neck with all the strength she has in her body. He returns her embrace with equal fervor, crushing out what little air she had managed to get into her lungs.

When Catherine's hold on him lessens, Connor raises his hands to her upper arms. A small noise escapes her throat and she opens her eyes, lifting her face to look at him and taking deep, open-mouthed breaths. _So fiercely resolute, those sea colored eyes of hers… so beautiful._  Connor thinks.  He bends to kiss her forehead and then her lips. The moment he lowers his mouth down to hers Catherine takes hold of his shoulders and rises onto her toes. Without hesitation, Connor bends and picks her up. Catherine wraps her legs around him tightly and grips the back of his neck with her hand, kissing him hard until she is once again breathless. Deciding to take advantage of this rare time they have alone, Connor carries Catherine further up the hill toward a sunny, open area where last year's dry grass is long and soft.

It is somewhat of a surprise when Connor starts walking up the hill. Catherine turns her face into the side of his neck and breathes in his scent, her fingers moving in the soft hair at the back of his head. Connor doesn't have to walk far before the sun warms Catherine's back and she feels him lowering himself to his knees on the ground. Catherine drops her legs from his hips and kneels in front of him. His right hand stays firmly on her bottom and holds her pressed against his pelvis while his left forearm and hand rest almost vertically up her back over her spine. He kisses her deeply yet softly, aggressively yet with the utmost care, sliding his hands up her sides and raising them to cup her face gently when they break away.

Catherine's lips are a deep scarlet in color, saturated with the flush of desire and the frisson of their kisses. The sun shines brightly where they kneel yet Catherine's irises are a slender, sapphire corona surrounding fully opened pupils of the darkest black. With his thumbs against her jaw, Connor angles her head back and kisses her neck, feeling her short moan where it vibrates in her throat. He trails his fingers down the silky smooth skin of her neck and brushes them lightly over the layers of her shirts, tugging lightly on the strings of her fabric shirt where they hang over the neckline of her hide one. Downward his hands travel, ghosting over her breasts and coming to rest where her hips flare out from her waist. Catherine arches backwards to allow him greater access to her throat and he holds her against him with his left hand on her lower back. He reaches up with his right hand and blindly finds the tie to her hide shirt where it lays between her breasts, pulling it out slowly. When it is untied, he hooks his finger into the lacing and tugs it loose, pulling it down and trailing his lips to the exposed skin of her chest.

Connor's attentions are an excruciating agony of want. Catherine's body is unable to cease its constant, reflexive movement in response to his attention; a breath, a shiver, a twitch… yet Catherine yearns to be still and feel his touch completely with every nerve under its influence. Her need is like nothing she has experienced before and she clutches at his arms in an attempt to find something unmoving within the tumult of her senses. Even there she finds a subtle play of muscular tension, attuned to each and every move she makes. The warmth of Connor's lips and the cool aftermath of his tongue are an exquisite torture and she raises her right hand to grasp at the back of his head, pressing his mouth to her chest. His teeth dig into her skin at her unexpected act and Catherine gasps at the scraping of her flesh but Connor is quick to kiss the place, making her forget any momentary discomfort.

Unable to travel any lower over her skin, Connor slowly draws back from Catherine and looks at her in his arms. Her head hangs back and her body is alive with her breathing, her hands grasping his shoulders tightly. When she raises her head, her eyes are glassy and she breathes open mouthed with desire.  Abruptly, she rights herself and falls upon him like a voracious creature, pulling at the laces of his shirt and dragging it up from his waist. Connor can't contain his amorous grin as he helps her pull his shirt over his head. Immediately her hands are on his chest, her fingers moving over his skin and gliding down to his abdomen before rising back up to his collar bones. She traces his tattoos as she kisses his chest and her left hand lingers on his scar for just a moment. Connor thought he was aroused before but this unusual hunger in her is driving him wild. Moving his hands to the bottom edge of her hide shirt, he scoops it in his fingers and raises it until he can take her fabric shirt in them as well. Slowly, he lifts her shirts up, exposing her smooth stomach, the bottom curves of her breasts and her hard nipples. Catherine raises her arms off of him long enough for him to pull her shirts over her head. Her hair falls in a tumble down her back and over her shoulders as Connor drops her clothing to the side. He cups her right breast briefly in his hand and splays his other briefly over her back, lowering his mouth to her left breast. He uses his lips to move her hair aside and, moving his left hand from her body to the ground, takes her nipple into his mouth as he lowers her onto her back in the soft grass.  Catherine clings to his shoulders and bends her knees up on either side of Connor's hips where he kneels over her.

Connor's warm lips on Catherine's skin recall to her the moments they had spent together during the night before leaving for the village. All the feelings she had experienced then come rushing back to her now as if it had been only hours ago. Opening her eyes just a little, she watches as Connor slowly kisses her, circling outward from her nipple and back until he takes it lovingly between his lips. Catherine exhales audibly as he holds it in his mouth and uses his tongue to excite her further while manipulating her other nipple with his fingers.  Connor's broad shoulders rise above her and take up almost all of Catherine's view. His skin has darkened considerably from working in the sun, increasing the contrast created by her hand on his shoulder. She finds his skin intoxicating and she curls her fingers against it, sliding them up his neck toward his head.  When she twines her fingers in his hair he starts kissing lower and his hands run a languorous race ahead of his mouth to the edge of her pants. Catherine barely feels him as he unties her lacing.  All her attention is on his warm breath and lips grazing over her stomach, circling her navel and sending thrills up and down her body. Sensations arc like lightning from her spine to between her legs and up through her breasts and fingers, as if he is touching her everywhere, both inside and outside her body.  The drag of Connor's warm lips over the skin of her stomach render her weak and when he lifts from her for the moment it takes to travel someplace new, Catherine is left wanting to weep for more. Only when he slips his fingers under the waist of her pants does she take note of what he is doing. It merely serves to increase the intensity of her surging desire, for even the backs of his fingers touching her body set more fires in her belly.  Connor places slow kisses in a heated trail below her navel just above his hands and Catherine's hips lift almost on their own accord. Connor lowers her pants enough to get his hand into them and he immediately searches for her hidden jewel with his fingertips.  Catherine tilts her hips side to side, angling her body spastically when he discovers it.  Connor uses his second and fourth fingers to spread her open, giving him full access to her inner labia.  He slides his middle finger down until he finds her slick warmth, gliding his finger through it until it slips easily between her inner folds.  Using her wetness, Connor returns to her jewel, paying it rapt attention.  Catherine moans softly under his careful ministrations and cries out from time to time as his diligence increases her pleasure with every passing second.  Her position prevents Connor from lowering her pants any further and accessing her better, so he takes his hand from her to remedy the restriction.  He shifts to her side so he can straighten her legs and take away the offending garment but he kisses her breasts and stomach while he does.  As he slides her pants below her knees, he raises his lips from her and runs a hand down each of her legs, bending them up in turn to unbutton and slip her boots off one by one and follow adeptly in their wake with her pants. A groan rumbles in his chest as he looks at her naked body, his heady desire luminously reflected in his eyes like a low flame.

Connor takes in Catherine's body, his eyes travelling over every inch of it.  The dark patch of hair nestled at the apex of her thighs draws his gaze and it is all he can do to hold back his need to touch her there that very moment, to spread her open, taste her and slake his thirst. Instead, he trails his hands slowly up her legs from her narrow ankles, savoring the smoothness of her skin and the shape of her lean, muscular thighs where they widen into her hips. He follows the curving dip of her waist, leaning close to drop kisses here and there in a random pattern. The late afternoon sun illuminates her body, turning her into a searingly bright entity before him, as beautiful as the visions of spirits he had seen in his youth. Catherine is a feast for his senses and he closes his eyes for a moment, savoring her soft skin under his palms. She trembles under his touch and Connor opens his eyes, expecting to see the fear that usually lurks under the surface of her trust. Instead, he finds her with her head thrown back, her hands by her sides and her fingers twined loosely into the grass. One leg is bent up and it falls to the side as he strokes his fingers lightly along her stomach to her hip, opening her most intimate place to his sight.  She is completely surrendering to his touch and her body is lost in pure enjoyment. Unable to resist the allure of giving her everything he has dreamed of for so long, he leans over her and kisses her exposed neck, trailing his hands, mouth and tongue in a slow dance down her body, lingering just over her sunlit nipples until she arches up into him and he responds with a soft graze of his teeth over them. Catherine cries out and tightens her hands on the grass momentarily. Connor moves lower, his hands sliding down her hips and the tops of her thighs as his lips find every sensitive place on her skin on their way down her body.  He travels back up and kisses Catherine's mouth.  She returns his kisses hungrily, looping her arms around his neck and gasping when he reaches down and touches her pearl once again.  Connor works it slowly in a circular motion, sometimes sweeping through her wetness when she bucks her hips beneath his hand.  Catherine's body is alternately rigid and lax in a repetitive cycle of tidal forces that never quite reach a crescendo.  Determined to change that, Connor carefully retakes a position between her legs and kisses his way down her neck, chest and stomach to just above her pubis, angling to follow one thigh to her knee before heading back up and over to the other.

Catherine can't control her breathing anymore and each breath is ragged and uneven, not matching the one before or the one after. Every touch and kiss Connor delivers ricochets through her, increasing her need for... something... to levels she finds almost unbearable. Connor slides his hands lightly over her thighs after his slow kisses and then down the insides of them, hooking his forearms underneath her knees.  Bending them up and out to the sides, he rests his hands on the sides of her hips and shrugs her knees up over his elbows.   Catherine lifts her head and watches Connor lean down with his face close to her stomach.  He looks up at her and their eyes link over the expanse of Catherine's nakedness.  Connor's eyes are dark and sensual, flooded with desire and hunger for her. His steady exhalations are warm on her skin below her navel but in a moment of suddenly exploding sensation, Connor drops his eyes from Catherine's and lowers his mouth onto her most intimate area. A breathy scream escapes Catherine unbidden at the feeling of his extraordinarily warm tongue delving deep between her labia, passing just over her opening and then maneuvering upwards, dividing her most pleasurably.  He finds the place he had only just left off touching so thoroughly, creating a pinpoint of sensitivity that expands into a heated pleasure that makes Catherine half sit up with a cry of shock and then fall back down bonelessly onto the grass.  She writhes in ecstasy beneath him as she tries to comprehend what she is feeling. It is so like, yet unlike when he had fondled her there with his fingers; gentler, hotter, yet no less overwhelming in pure delight.  No matter how deliriously she moves her body, his mouth stays on her, his tongue leaving and returning to that sensitive place, plying it with varying degrees of pressure and motions. Sometimes Connor gives firm, slow stroking, sometimes a rapid flicker, each way bringing its own form of delight that makes Catherine involuntarily jerk her hips and utter high pitched cries. Instinctively, she reaches down to him and tangles her fingers in his hair. Connor responds by pressing his face to her, drawing the supple skin of her sex between his lips and creating a pleasing suction in addition to the motion of his tongue.   Catherine moans loudly and tightens her grip on him, pulling his face against her in a wordless petition for more. With a low moan of his own, Connor grasps her waist and hips with his hands and raises them off the ground to better access her sweet, silken nectar.  Catherine loses track of anything else other than Connor's hungry mouth upon her, devouring her for what feels like a heavenly length of time. His fervent attentions cause her to buck her hips and each time she does he raises her just a little more until only her toes graze the grass from where her legs dangle from his arms. Somehow, his tongue seems to move even faster on her, causing forces to converge in her body and coalesce where his tongue touches her, building and building without any overflow. With nothing to push against any longer and only her upper back and shoulders in any real contact with the ground, Catherine finally screams out in her extremity of sense, tearing a handful of grass from the ground and finding no satisfying outlet for the pent up riot that boils ceaselessly within her. Connor lets her down and lifts his lips from her, allowing his warm breath to send shivers of delight over her body. Catherine is teetering on the edge of an unknown, enticing precipice and her body is begging to be thrown over.  She thrums and tingles with overwrought sensations, her heart pounding and her nerves bursting with it all yet unable to set anything free.

Connor is spellbound by Catherine's responses to him. Her body had arched and twisted prettily under his tongue's labors, her uncontrolled reactions the result of pure, carnal awakening. Each time her fingers had tightened in his hair, he had reveled in the pain it brought, knowing what he did caused her to react without conscious thought. He has waited endlessly to give her this and is impatient to give her more, to show her that what happened to her was a ghastly perversion of what sex should be.  Still watching her attentively, Connor lowers his mouth to her and circles around her sensitive area, moving lower to taste deeply the tang of her arousal once again with a probing flick of his tongue, savoring her body's bounteous offerings. Catherine jerks her hips upward, gasping hoarsely, and Connor tastes of her again, slower, just to feel her body move in such a way and hear her, so saturated with an eroticism she is not even aware she has. Withdrawing his right hand from her hip, Connor pauses in his enthusiastic attentions to wet two fingers in his mouth before quickly returning to her tart sweetness. The next time Catherine eagerly raises her hips up to him, he presses his fingers to her, maneuvering them just between her warm labia, slippery with profuse amounts of her arousal and not at all in need of his cautious additional moisture.

The moment his fingers find her opening, Catherine arches upwards with a throaty moan, tightening her grip on Connor's hair.  Excited by her response, he rapidly moves his tongue on her until she is panting and inarticulate in her oblivion and his mouth aches from the rewarding exertion. He raises his head from her and shifts slightly forward, sliding his free hand from her hip, up her thigh and letting it come to rest just shy of her knee where it bends over his upper arm. With almost excruciating slowness, Connor slips his fingers just inside of Catherine, observing her reactions carefully for any sign that he is hurting her or causing any fear. She lifts her head and watches him with wide, lust-darkened eyes from where she lays on the grass but she gives no indication of wanting him to stop.  She is warm and tight around him with some tension but Connor takes care to keep her in a perpetual state of arousal, lowering his mouth once more to her enticing little gem and encouraging further relaxation.  When Catherine's head falls back onto the grass and some of the tension leaves her, Connor starts to move his fingers in and out very slowly, going incrementally deeper with every repetition and pausing for a moment inside before pulling his fingers out. Catherine's breathy sighs and moans become drawn out and rise steadily in pitch as Connor ventures deeper, playing on her body's heightened sensitivity and drawing out her bliss with fingers and tongue. She is abundantly slick with her enjoyment and after she has allowed him to penetrate her as deeply as he can with his fingers for some time, Connor slows his tongue, bends his fingers slightly inside her and exerts gentle pressure upwards into a soft, special place after each time he pushes in. The change causes Catherine to cry out ardently with every movement, her knees tilting in until she presses against Connor's arms with shaking spasms.  Only moments later Connor feels her muscles tighten in a rhythmic shiver around his fingers. He lifts his face, watching, and adeptly speeds his movements just as Catherine arches upwards, her muscles clenching and unclenching in a powerful orgasm. A hoarse cry, half scream and half moan tears itself from her and Catherine drops back onto the grass, releasing her hold on Connor's hair and lying limply before him when it is over. She pants and struggles to open her eyes but her body is still experiencing the aftermath of sexual climax.  To Connor, she is a truly glorious sight.

Catherine opens her eyes only after the final pulse of her body leaves her weak with a vibrant and strumming fluidity to her senses that had not been there before. Connor is watching her from between her thighs, an erotic half-smile on his face that is laced with almost worshipful adoration.  His bottom lip shines with her wetness, catching the brilliant, low rays of light streaming through the trees and making Catherine wonder if he is some kind of lusty enchanter who thrives off of bringing women who wander too far into the trees extraordinary pleasure.  The way Connor used his mouth and tongue on her had drawn Catherine out and laid her open, exposing a need she had not realized she had  That irresistible need prevailed over the final scrap of Catherine's fear at last, overpowering her anxiety and crushing it in its shadow. When her body had responded with such exquisite sensations she had felt like she was drowning and gulping the purest air at the same time until all thought was stolen from her mind except what her body was feeling.  Connor slowly extracts his fingers from her, simultaneously pulling Catherine from her thoughts.  His eyes roam over her body as an additional throb of pleasure from his unhurried withdrawal takes her and causes her to tilt her hips after his retreating fingers.  Letting out a low, satisfied noise of appreciation, Connor presses his glistening fingers where he had tasted so lovingly of her, deliberately manipulating the little nub that seems to make Catherine's nerves explode everywhere in her body. Catherine closes her eyes and elevates her hips up to his touch so he presses his fingers firmly to her, causing residual tightening surges to pass through her pelvis. When she drops once again to the soft grass, Connor kisses the inside of her thigh with calculated slowness, making her legs quiver with ticklish enjoyment. It inflames her need, somehow drawing it up to the surface instantly after it had only just been sated. He kisses her other thigh, slides her legs off his shoulders and sits up, smiling hungrily as he looks at her spread before him, his eyes lingering on her sex as he unties the laces of his pants.

A strange sense of relief fills Catherine that for once Connor isn't going to stop short of satisfying himself. _Hasn't he waited long enough for this?_ She is willing to give him what he craves, for time and again he has selflessly sought out her enjoyment more than his own. As he stands to pull his boots off, Catherine watches him, looking at his body with open admiration for its strength and form. He is a sight to behold when he is completely naked by her feet.  His erection is full and large, standing out from his body rakishly, seemingly reaching toward Catherine with eager anticipation.   His well defined muscles in his thighs and stomach shift as he slowly lowers himself to his knees between her legs and leans over her. Catherine slides the fingers of both hands into his hair when Connor kisses his way up her body, reversing the path he had taken earlier and stopping for some time to lavish her breasts with his tongue and kisses. Her anticipation increases as he slowly works his way up to her neck and jaw. Connor lingers there, kissing her so lightly Catherine shivers with ticklish enjoyment.  Impatient for his mouth, Catherine guides him to her lips at last and tightens her fingers in his hair and against the back of his neck, determined to keep him where she can kiss him, at least for a little while.

Connor raises his body up slightly and reaches between them as they kiss. Catherine feels his fingers part her folds and then the warm, rounded head of his penis replaces them. He swipes through her wetness with it several times, making sure he has smoothed the way for his entry as much as possible.  When he is settled at her entrance, he very slowly begins to push inside, guiding his penis with his hand to ensure he does not cause any undue discomfort.  His erection seeks accommodation from Catherine, pressing her open around its girth and stretching her significantly more than his fingers had.  A sudden, unexpected burst of panic tears through Catherine's body from the pressure.  Too many things she is feeling remind her of her terrible past. The ground beneath her back, a man's body between her thighs keeping her from closing her legs and the memory of the pressure that came just before the horrible pain of brutal penetration. With a high pitched squeak of anxiety, she pushes against Connor and digs her heels into the grass, shoving herself backwards to escape him. Only barely, she somehow keeps her voice a whisper and not a scream.

"No! Not like this!" Connor leans on his hands over her, his widened eyes searching her face. Catherine had propelled herself so far backwards that she is half out from under him and his face is level with her stomach.  "Not like this." She says again, softer.

"Did I hurt you?  I will stop if you do not wish to continue."  Connor's expression is broken despite his promise.  His eyes are a clear window to his heart, showing Catherine just how apologetic he is that he had caused her any pain or turmoil.  

"No... no." Catherine shakes her head and can't articulate what she means. It isn't the intimacy with him that she fears. He had already shown her how wonderful he can make her feel. It's the dominant position of him over her that had reopened her old wound. Unable to explain, she sits up and pushes on Connor's shoulder. He rolls to the side and Catherine continues to push on him until he is on his back. She follows the movement of his body with hers and straddles his stomach, leaning down to hover her mouth over his lips. Connor stares at her, his eyebrows nearly touching from the consternation on his face. His stomach is tense under her hands. "Like this, Ratonhnhake:ton…  I need... I need to control it." Catherine whispers and kisses him softly. She takes her lips from him and looks into his eyes with sincerity.  Connor's expression changes from concern to understanding and he nods solemnly at her.  Slowly, his face breaks into one of his truly rare, wide smiles.  He starts to laugh softly beneath her. Catherine sits up and looks with worry at him. He only smiles wider and places his hands on the sides of her waist.

"Say that again, WildCat." Catherine shakes her head, baffled by his request and his laughter, for they do not match up in the least.

"I need to control it... my first time with you."  Connor shakes his head, slides his hands up her back and draws her down until her lips just barely touch his again.

"Not that.  My name…  please say it again." His lips brush softly against hers as he whispers. Catherine smiles at his request, realizing the full import of what doing so means. She isn't with the assassin, the man called Connor. She's with Ratonhnhake:ton, the man who loves her, wants her in his life forever and who doesn't care one way or the other how they need to go about it. 

"Ratonhnhake:ton…" Catherine whispers.  Connor lifts his head off the ground and hungrily takes her mouth with his almost before she finishes saying his name. His arms hold her tightly to his chest and Catherine never wants him to let go even if he crushes the breath out of her and she were to die because of it. Returning his kisses in kind, their ardor mounts to an unbearable high. With a gasp, Catherine presses on his shoulders and he lets her go. Sitting up, she raises up off Connor's hips and he reaches down to guide himself to her once more. When the tip of him is seated at her opening, he moves his other hand over to glide his thumb over her sensitive pearl, still delightfully slippery from his tongue. To Catherine's surprise, he doesn't initiate penetration. With her eyes tightly closed and her heart pounding with both her building need from his touch and a large scrap of her stubborn fear still hanging on tightly, she lingers, unmoving, and once again finds herself standing at the edge of a precipice. She leans her hands on Connor's chest with her head tilted up at the sky while the muscles in her thighs begin to burn from her tense position.  She tries to clear her mind of all but what being with him like this means, rather than the memories that twist what she is feeling. Connor continues to stimulate her as he patiently waits for her to make the first move. Catherine knows he is watching her even as his hand leaves off holding his penis and moves up to gently cup her breast. When Catherine continues to keep her body rigid, he moves both his hands to her forearms. His quiet words reach her.

"Catherine… look at me." His request is serious.  Slowly, Catherine opens her eyes and lowers her face from the branches of the trees above them. Connor stares back at her with an open expression on his face. "You are with me… only me." he says to her. His hands slowly massage her arms and the longer Catherine looks at his face the calmer she feels. His compelling, amber eyes lead her out of her mind and into the present moment.  With her calm comes a certainty in her mind that this is what she wants and she will have it. At the moment of her realization she lowers herself fully onto him, feeling him enter her completely. Connor lets out a deep, open mouthed exhale at her unexpected act and his chin tips up. When he lowers his face to look at her again, his eyes are partly lidded with pleasure and his breaths are short and fast, making his chest rise and fall quickly under Catherine's hands. Deliberately, she tightens her muscles around him, feeling him within her, searching for the pain and finding none. She experimentally moves her hips, rocking them, and watches the subtle changes that cross Connor's face. He maintains eye contact with her as his lips twitch in pleasure and his eyes squint slightly as she moves. Lowering her body to lay on him, his length moving inside her as she does, Catherine kisses him and closes her eyes, letting her body relax completely. Relief overwhelms her and she clings to his shoulders, feeling as if a terrible beast has been vanquished in her mind and body. Connor strokes his hands up her sides and over her back, crossing them over her shoulders and up into her hair. He kisses her slowly, as if for the first time.  They linger in this way, gently, until Catherine indicates she wants more by moving her hands to the tops of Connor's shoulders and squeezing his muscles there.  She feels the moment Connor bends his knees and moves his hips slightly. It is just the amount of encouragement Catherine needs and she slowly lifts her lips from his and starts to move her body. Connor extracts his hands from her hair and places one on her hip and the other on the side of her chest, rubbing her nipple gently with his thumb.

Catherine moves slowly, rolling her pelvis against Connor's and experiencing his penetration.  She analyzes the way he feels within her, the changes when she moves her body differently, and accepting the growing want for more rising in her belly.  Connor moves with her, complimenting the way she rocks back and forth on her knees over him and allowing her to control it all.   Catherine reaches down between her legs and touches herself where he enters her, feeling his hardness, her wetness on it and the way her sex envelops his length so perfectly. Analysis transitions to simply feeling and eventually, Catherine's sensations build up once more until they want to burst at the seams. Catherine moves faster and with more confidence as she discovers a rhythm that gives her pleasure. She braces her hands on Connor's chest and drops her head down, breathing heavily as she enjoys him inside of her.  Connor makes a low, breathy noise below her. His hand closes tighter on her leg and he starts to move his hips with her, rising up when she moves back. Abruptly, Catherine opens her eyes and sits up completely, letting her weight take her down the length of him. Connor exhales hard in response and when she rises up and then retakes him into her, he meets her with an upward thrust of his pelvis and and a short groan of pleasure.  He brings his other hand to her hips, helping to lift her and then driving her down onto himself as she moves faster and finds a new rhythm in her upright position.  Catherine fills and refills herself with all of Connor's length and everything he can give. Waves of pleasure course through her, much deeper than when Connor had used his fingers on her, and she cries out with her enjoyment, pausing in her movement and pressing herself down onto him to feel him as deeply inside her as she can. Connor reaches up and takes her breasts in his hands, squinting up at her. His touch is light, much too light, and Catherine clasps her hands over his and presses them against her. He groans and squeezes her breasts, making her grasp his wrists in response. With his second and third fingers, he takes her nipples, pinching them a little and she arches into his hands.  She resumes rocking her hips and Connor can't help taking one hand from her breast to fondle her jewel instead.  Catherine gasps, tipping her head back toward the sky the moment he touches it.  At last, the wave that had been building in her crests and she collapses forward onto his chest, still clutching his wrist with one hand. When the deep spasms in her body slow and stop she catches her breath and delves her fingers into Connor's hair, most of it falling completely out of his ponytail and hanging over her hands. She kisses him everywhere she can reach: his collar bones, neck, chin, lips, forehead and earlobes. Connor laughs at her frantic behavior and tries to return some of her kisses but misses several times. He gives up and just accepts her little gifts of happiness.

"Oh, I can't get enough of you! I want more and more! Please!" she cries and Connor is happy to oblige. He has dreamed of giving her this and seeing her so hungry for it is unreal. Wrapping his arms around her, he slowly and carefully rolls them both over so he is above her. Long sections of his hair fall forward and partially obscure his view of her as her hands drop to his shoulders. Nothing but trust and drunken, sexual pleasure are on Catherine's face and in her lidded eyes so he immediately starts moving in her. Catherine sighs and closes her eyes completely, her head turning to the side as her hands fall from his arms and lie over her head, fully relaxed. As Connor moves, he lowers his mouth to her neck and lavishes it with attention, making Catherine moan and arch upwards. Connor wants to make this last as long as possible but her muscles tighten around him, hampering his attempts to control his climax. Despite his best efforts, they had been making love for so long that his body is breaking free of his restraint and he doesn't want to stop long enough to control it.

Catherine is overwhelmed by the way she feels. She can barely form thoughts at all and she is surrounded by a fog of blissful sensations that traverse her body, making her feel as if she is relaxed and tense at the same time. Every movement they make together is ecstasy and somehow it keeps going on. Connor's breathing becomes irregular and he increases his pace. Catherine needs to hold onto something so she reaches up to grasp the backs of his arms. She squeezes her eyes shut and a broken, high pitched keen escapes her before it deteriorates into sobbing gasps as tension builds in her body to an apex of pleasure so strong it becomes nearly agonizing. Connor's face is close to her neck and his sharp, groaning exhalations against her skin and deeper thrusts push her past the boundaries of her prevailing need. In an uncontrolled tumble, her body convulses yet again with rhythmic spasms. She tries to hold them inside and make them last, wrapping her legs around Connor's waist and clinging to his arms with all her strength as he thrusts rapidly into her, matching and contrasting with her own surging climax.  Connor's voice joins Catherine's at his release and after his final thrust into her he is still, resting his weight on his forearms and breathing heavily. As he comes down from the surges of pleasure that course through his body, he becomes more aware of Catherine's fingers digging into his shoulders and her legs wrapped tightly around his hips. Her muscles flutter around him for a second longer before slowing and stopping. Catherine collapses onto the grass when it is over and, aside from her ragged breathing, lies unmoving beneath him, a few curls stuck to her neck in the fine beads of sweat that cover her body.  

Conscious thought returns slowly.  Catherine wonders if she will ever be able to move again, or if she will even want to. Her body is so spent from what she just experienced that she can do nothing but lay there and try to process what just took place. When she finally opens her eyes, Connor is looking down at her, his face only inches from hers. His expression is soft and loving and his eyes are dark with satisfaction. With some effort, Catherine lifts her right hand from where it had fallen beside his arm and moves a section of his tousled hair out of the way to touch his cheek. She slides his braid up and tucks it behind his ear and he smiles at her, lowers his face down and kisses her slowly. Catherine knows with certainty that she will never leave his side now. He is the only person she will every truly love and he has given her a gift of immeasurable value: her freedom. Not only had he liberated her from her captors, he had returned her mind and heart to her as well. She is grateful for the way Connor had led her to this point.  He gave her all of his love in every way, knowing she could only take small steps yet never hurrying her.

In a sudden rush of emotional upheaval, Catherine finds herself clinging to Connor once more. He lowers his face from her lips and tenderly kisses the corner of her neck and shoulder as she clutches him and tries not to cry. The moment passes and she sighs in relief, feeling weaker than ever. Connor slowly disengages himself to sit back and pull out of her. His absence is an aching loss as his seed leaves her body but he lies on his right side and gathers her up against him, softly smoothing her hair back from her face and neck. He runs his fingers down her arm, raising shivery bumps on her skin in their wake. It isn't necessary for him to speak for Catherine to know what he is thinking; his eyes are telling her everything he wants to say. Catherine isn't so sure she has the same talent.

"Ratonhnhake:ton…" She almost says _Connor_ but at the last instant corrects herself, knowing it is only with his Kanien'keha:ka name that she speaks to the man he truly is. His face fills her view and he raises her hand up to kiss her fingertips as she whispers the words she has never been able to say.  "I love you." His response surprises her.  He rests her palm on his cheek and covers her hand with his.

"I know." His words pierce her deeply and say so much more than mere acknowledgement  He has loved her for much longer and in a way so expansive that Catherine cannot yet comprehend. His simple statement burrows into her chest, a blade of truth in her heart that she welcomes and closes her skin and bones over to cherish forever.


	18. Bound

Bound

 

"I would gladly marry both of you but I think Ratonhnhake:ton would kill me while I sleep!" Sonehso:wa laughs as he comes across Catherine and Anika sitting on their area of the longhouse working on something. He had overheard them as he walked closer to them.  They were discussing whether Catherine could stand beside Anika during the wedding but had been so absorbed in what they were working on that they had not noticed his approach. Anika squeaks and drags a nearby fur over her lap, covering a clothing item and Catherine stands up to bar his path.

"What ever in the world do you mean, 'marry both of us'?" She crosses her arms over her chest and glowers at Sonehso:wa where he stands facing her, smiling widely in his usual way. Catherine's fingers tap against a woven arm band that is tied around her left arm over a somewhat wider piece of pale, blueish purple fabric, dyed in a solution made of crushed freshwater abalone shells from the river. Since the weather had gotten warmer she had stopped wearing her long sleeved shirt and only wore her hide one with either a soft wrapped hide skirt or her pants.  The armband is an appealing fashion many women in the village wear so Catherine had adopted it when one was offered to her. Sonehso:wa smirks at her challenging stance and explains.

"If you are standing with Anika before the clans it would look like I am marrying you both." He spreads his hands out toward Catherine in a careless gesture. "I would not refuse if two beautiful women want to share me…"

"Sonehso:wa!" Anika cries from where she is hastily shoving her project into a corner under some furs. Catherine smiles at Sonehso:wa's devilish grin and shakes her head at him, trying desperately not to laugh.

"You couldn't handle both of us…" she breaks into a laugh at the end and Sonehso:wa raises his eyebrows at her.

"No? You do not think I could?" He moves quickly, looping his arm around Catherine's waist and picking her up before spinning and sitting on the bed beside Anika with Catherine on top of him. He scoops Anika in his other arm, pulling her down as he lays back and starts kissing her neck while keeping Catherine from escaping his grasp. Catherine screams in scandalized laughter, kicking her feet, and Anika joins in when Sonehso:wa starts making exaggerated, hungry noises against her neck in between kisses. He keeps his hold on Catherine as she struggles half on his lap and delivers light punches to his chest, still laughing as Anika is reduced to only half-heartedly resisting his smiling kisses. Finally, Sonehso:wa lets go of Catherine and she crawls away to kneel beside him. Sonehso:wa rolls over and takes Anika in his arms completely, only pausing his kisses long enough to admit defeat.

"I suppose one of you is enough!"

"Thank goodness! I was starting to feel neglected." Catherine huffs sarcastically but leaps off the bed with a squeal when Sonehso:wa blindly reaches a hand back toward her as if to pull her close again.  "You're a positively insufferable man!" Catherine laughs over her shoulder as she snatches Anika's project and retreats to the other side of their section to stash it on the shelf.

"He's a buffoon!" Anika barely manages to shriek before disintegrating into delighted giggling.

"Mmm. A buffoon. Yes." Sonehso:wa mumbles against Anika's cheek between his ravenous kisses. Anika laughs at him with her chin tipped back, both of her hands clutching his arm where it crosses her stomach. Catherine can't help but smile at how happy they are together and she leaves them to their silliness. They can barely contain themselves and Catherine is almost relieved that the wedding is only a day away. She is looking forward to giving her best friend the white outfit she and Ori:te'hiyo had been working on. They had spent hours perfecting and reworking the beading and embroidery that adorns it until finally they had to just fold it up and leave it alone.  Similarly, Anika had spent many hours working on the shirt for Sonehso:wa.  Only a few more details are left before it will be done.

It is mid May and with the warm sunshine and abundant rain showers, the green growth of spring colors the trees and brightens the landscape. Catherine smiles as she walks west along the river.  She carries her moccasins in one hand and curls her toes in the sand along the bank. Her feet had gotten used to not wearing shoes and she now prefers being barefoot, even when most of the women wear moccasins made from woven corn husks. There is something about feeling the subtle changes of the earth beneath her feet that she finds pleasant. She hears her name being called and spots Raonraon and Tsihskoko over by one of the longhouses. Calling out a traditional greeting, she waves and continues walking. The girls are no longer obligated to accompany her and Anika so they had returned to their usual habits, though often they will spend time together just for fun or to continue lessons in the Kanien'keha language.

Beyond the palisade, Catherine dons her moccasins to enter the woods where the ground is littered with fallen acorns, pinecones and small branches that are less comfortable to walk upon. She finds her chestnut horse among the others belonging to the village grazing on some clumps of tender new grass that had sprung up.  She spends time detangling his mane and tail with her fingers and then decides to go for a ride. She uses a nearby rock to clamber up onto the horse's back and encourages him to trot. The air is aromatic with the piney, mulchy freshness of spring and the sweet, grassy smell that indicates the beginnings of real summer heat to come. Catherine breathes it in deeply like a panacea.

The sounds of a game of tewa'a:raton being played carry from over a hill and Catherine rides up it to watch from above. It is mostly teenaged boys playing, with a few of the younger adult men thrown in. Many of the older men and some women are sitting on the sides watching and cheering for the players. The teams are well-matched and each score won is a true battle. After watching for sometime, Catherine moves in a wide radius to circle around where the game is being played so as to not interrupt their fun. Beyond where they play is an area of open, almost treeless rolling hills and Catherine spurs the chestnut to gallop across it. The animal is as eager as she to taste the air deep in his lungs and he quickly reaches his top speed, his legs stretching and his hooves beating the earth. The wind in Catherine's face is exhilarating and she laughs, the sound taken from her lips and lost behind her. Her knees are tight to the sides of the horse and she holds on to his mane with both hands, leaning forward and moving as one with his pace. She turns the chestnut in a wide arc to head back to the village and only when she nears the final crest before the trees does she slow the animal. He tosses his head and blows loudly through his nostrils, his sides heaving from the exercise. Catherine chirps at him with loving nonsense words and praises him for his speed and strength, scratching under his mane and making him whinny. He always responds in seeming happiness to her voice and touch and Catherine takes supreme enjoyment from it, sure he understands every word she speaks. For a moment she feels a pang of sadness, remembering how her sleek, dark brown mare in New York would behave similarly, stamping eagerly whenever she would enter the stable. There is nothing to be done about that so she leaves the memory alone and takes a southerly track through the forest on her way to the river, intending to follow it back to the village. Near the edge of the water a few men are fishing and one of them waves her over as she comes into sight.

It is Teiowi:sonte, the somewhat deceptively stout looking older brother of blue-eyed Kahionhatenion who had met them at the outskirts of the village when they had all arrived a month ago. Despite his overweight appearance, he is extremely strong and always willing to lend his muscle to a task that requires the strength of many men. Catherine has witnessed him drag a submerged canoe from beneath the rushing waters of the river by himself; a task that would have taken two or three average men to do. He is known to put a hand print over his face that covers his chin and mouth whenever he hunts or does anything outside the confines of the village palisade. Today is no exception. He wears the mark as often as a military man would embellish his uniform with the emblems of his rank. Catherine wishes to ask him why he has chosen a hand print and that location for it but fears it would be a gross deviation from propriety to inquire about such a personal choice.  is a soft spoken man and very friendly. He treats her like a little sister even though they are of a similar age, spontaneously calling her by Anika's nickname after he heard Connor refer to her as WildCat. It immediately endeared him to her so she would hate to make things awkward between them. She resolves to ask Connor about it sometime.

"Cat! It is always a good thing to see you!" He grins up at Catherine and she reaches down to take his raised hand after waving at the other men.

"It's good to see you, too." She says with a smile.

"Ratonhnhake:ton said if I saw you to tell you to look for him at the coop. He would not say what it is about." Though his casual words imply ignorance, Catherine gets the impression he knows exactly what it is about. His eyes sparkle and his smile, hidden by the darkness of his face paint, gives away his knowledge.

"Thank you. I'll go there now." Catherine narrows her eyes at him as she takes her hand back. His smile widens to a toothy, sheepish grin and he runs his palm over his mostly bald head. As Catherine rides away along the river,  Teiowi:sonte watches her from the bank with a quirky smile on his face. She has seen Connor and he, along with Sonehso:wa and Kahionhatenion when they have had time to spend together as friends, laughing and horsing around like oversized teenagers. Once, they all seemed to be participating in a comical joust with the sticks used for their ball games, delivering blows to each other in a pretense of fencing that had soon devolved into a free-for-all against Connor's greater skill. They had been raucous with laughter, taunts and shouting, even when Connor managed to disarm them or knock them down. Only when the three other men worked together in a somewhat sneaky attack did they succeed in unbalancing him. It seems the four of them are rather close, and it makes Catherine happy to see Connor so content, even when he bears marks on his body from both his playful and serious practice sessions of combat.  Since they had arrived at the village, Connor appears to be the most at ease for extended periods of time as Catherine had ever seen him. It seems that when he is among his people, his other life fades a little further into the background and weighs just a little less heavily on his shoulders. In the weeks following their landmark tryst in the woods, he had lost even more of the tension that would cloud his features from time to time. However, at times when Connor thinks no one is watching, the lines that surround his mouth and eyes return and he frowns down at his clasped hands or stares off toward the East. His sense of duty drags on him and each time Catherine sees him like that something breaks loose in her heart. Every day brings them a step closer to a time when they will have to leave. 

Almost every day, Connor is out with one or more of his friends and other men of the tribe, going over combat techniques and engaging in extremely intense sessions that make what he had taught Catherine at the hunting cabin look like he was playing gently with a baby. The combatants hit each other hard with their blunted weapons or fists, eliciting real reactions of pain sometimes. If Connor had used the same amount of force while teaching her, he would have broken her bones. Despite the resulting bruises and scratches from his fights, Catherine says nothing of it, knowing this is what he always does to keep himself and the other men in shape. She accepts it as a necessary part of his lifestyle. He wouldn't be much of an Assassin if he is unable to best his opponents in a fight.

Sonehso:wa had said from the beginning that Connor is an exceptional fighter yet watching him flip men as big as he is over his shoulder and drop them on the ground with relative ease drives the truth of his words home rather directly. He fights like no one she has ever seen before. His moves have a heavy brutality to them that are unlike the dance-like motions of the swordplay Catherine had seen Francisco participate in or in the pugilist competitions at festivals. While Connor's attacks are fluid and smooth, they have crushing power. With all his weight behind them and incorporating elbows, kicks and tackles to take down his opponents, he only avoids dealing mortal wounds to his friends through the use of careful restraint and tactical adjustments at the right moments. Every time Connor defeats a man, he helps him to his feet and explains to him what he can do differently in the future, even practicing the moves that would have blocked his attacks and going over them slowly until it is clear. Even with bloodied noses, cuts or broken skin on their knuckles, the men always end up laughing with Connor or showing some other sign of camaraderie afterwards.

Only rarely would Connor actually take a hit hard enough to draw blood and Catherine had learned not to show her shock in public, instead, making a display of stoic approval for his endurance and fortitude. The first time she had seen him get cut with a weapon she had gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Sonehso:wa had almost knocked her to the ground in an effort to subdue her horror, quickly taking her wrists, blocking her approach to Connor and keeping her face hidden from the others present with his body while whispering to her not to cry out or weep. He had taken her tightly by the arm and led her rapidly out of sight to where Anika was washing some items in the river. There, he reiterated to her the reason why warriors of the Haudenosaunee, and particularly the Kanien'keha:ka, are feared by their rivals. They show no mercy, no tolerance for weakness and the women uphold that standard even more rigorously than the men. Catherine had cried then, only briefly, not seeing the look Anika and Sonehso:wa had shared over her head as he hugged her comfortingly. Anika had come over and lent her empathy to Catherine, telling her of some of the things she and Sonehso:wa had discussed in their private conversations. He had prepared her better for what she would see, which is why she chose to find other things to do while the men practiced, knowing she could not bear to see the man she loves getting hurt, even if it is in willing participation.

Catherine still watches Connor's skirmishes, though from a distance so she may leave if it becomes too upsetting to see. He always finds her afterwards and kisses the top of her head in a reassuring way, a silent message telling her that he is well.  Every time he comes to her, bruised, bleeding or not, Catherine looks at him, studying his eyes for every speck of truth in him.  They tell her much she understands and even more that she doesn't.  One truth stands out beyond all others: his open training bouts are a constant reminder of his other life and the dwindling time they have remaining in the village.  That knowledge is painful.

For the first time in her life, Catherine feels as if she is a part of something greater. She has had time to look back and reflect on the empty nature of her life before and compare it to who she is now. In New York, she had flitted from event to event, barely thinking about what it takes to create a meaningful life for one's self. Here, she is a cog in a machine, working hard to perpetuate the prosperity of this little village and finding a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment she had never before experienced. Her past is a hollow drum now, capable only of tapping out a half-remembered, one-note cadence that is almost lost under the vibrant and busy lifestyle she has taken on. Village life is healing to her heart and she recognizes now why Connor had originally asked her to stay here when he leaves. He has experienced this peaceful life and knows the value of it. Yet the thought of him being gone, leaving her behind after they have come through so much together, makes Catherine jittery and anxious. She can't do it no matter how much she loves this place and the people in it.

The coop comes into sight and Catherine dismounts to lead her horse over to it. Connor isn't there and a stab of disappointment briefly crosses her heart. They had met in this very location several times over the previous weeks for the express purpose of making love.  The secluded place has an enchanting hush to it and they had been drawn to it several times following their first intimate liaison here.  Catherine can almost feel his hands on her, his breath on her skin and the way he feels inside her as she looks at the sunny hillside just beyond the coop.  Suddenly, Catherine's heart leaps in her chest.   _Does Teiowi:sonte know?_ Her skin heats up in a flush of embarrassment at the concept of the man being privy to her and Connor's sexual encounters.  In an effort to distract herself from her thoughts, Catherine stands on tiptoe and looks inside at the contentedly cooing birds, her undying fascination for their homing capabilities making her feel like a young, country girl still learning her way. A few scattered acorns are easy to gather and she breaks their hard shells between two rocks, separating the soft nut from inside to drop into the coop for the birds. She kisses to them as they peck at their snack and then pats the chestnut horse's long face, getting his typical nudge on her shoulder for her affection. Kicking off her moccasins, she takes a seat with her back to a tree to wait for Connor.

A whirring noise followed by the distinctive thunk of an arrow hitting a nearby tree makes her look up with a jump. An arrow fletched with white feathers is buried in the tree next to her and Catherine lets out a belated scream of shock when she sees it. She scrambles over and ducks behind the largest tree nearby, dragging the horse with her by a fistful of his mane. The area is silent; even the pigeons are quiet, and the branches of the trees are motionless, as if holding their breath along with Catherine. When nothing else happens, Catherine peeks her head out from behind the tree only to see Connor striding toward her.  He is dressed in his usual long pants and boots and a tunic that leaves his tanned arms bare to his shoulders.

Catherine steps out from behind the tree, pushing the horse aside, and stands with her arms crossed in a show of indignant exasperation for the second time in one day. Despite her rapidly beating heart she knows she wasn't in any real danger with Connor operating the bow. Having witnessed his prowess with the weapon before, she has no doubt he would never have hit her but part of her is suspicious of his subtle grin that is far too similar to Sonehso:wa's crafty ones for her liking. Catherine narrows her eyes and waits until he is almost to her before speaking.

"You frightened me!" Her voice sounds petulant and Connor grins wider at her exclamation. He leans down and kisses her frowning mouth.

"You are attractive when you are like this."

"Ratonhnhake:ton!" she huffs, frustrated with him.  

"Do not be angry with me, WildCat."  he finishes his request with another smile and his eyes sparkle with delight.

"I'm not angry." Catherine mumbles.  She cannot compete with his unusual excitement.  A small smile attempts to sneak across her mouth.

"Yes, you are." Connor laughs, as Catherine bends to pick up one of her discarded moccasins. She changes the subject as she looks around for the other slipper.

"Teiowi:sonte said you wanted to meet me here. Was it just some ruse to use me as target practice?" Connor steps back and slides her other moccasin toward her with the toe of his boot. Catherine bends to pick it up and he steps on it so she has to tug it free. Her face falls as she puts it on and she tilts her head to the side with a pronounced sigh as she looks up at him, irritated. When she is upright again, she recrosses her arms and looks at him with narrowed eyes and her lips pressed together, attempting to hold onto a modicum of her irritation before it quickly slips through her grasp. Connor's eyes are so full of childlike excitement that she finally throws up her hands and shakes her head, letting her smile free.  "What are you so smug about, then? You're awfully mischievous today." she cries.

"I wanted to give you this." He brings his arm out from behind his back and offers her the bow he had been holding. It is only slightly shorter than his weapon, which Catherine notices is on his back, as well as a second quiver full of white-fletched arrows, identical to the one in the tree nearby.

"Oh!" Catherine breathes as she takes the bow in her hand, all her exasperation leaving her as she examines the weapon with unconcealed awe. The wood is smooth and unblemished, such a pale golden color it's nearly white. The arms are slender, almost feminine in structure, and curve gracefully from the wider center to the narrow ends. It gleams in the light as if it had just been polished to a high gloss an hour earlier. The grip is wrapped in white twine and the bow's arms bear additional decorative wrappings. It is the spaces in between that catch Catherine's eyes the most. A depiction of a running wildcat is burned onto the wood of each arm in sweeping, sparse lines. They appear to be running up the arms toward the middle of the bow, their legs stretched in a full run or leap and their long tails are almost straight out behind them. They are lean and fast creatures and the artist had captured that perfectly with an uncomplicated and minimalist's eye.

"This… It's beautiful! Did you do this?" She traces her fingers over the design, feeling the shallow grooves that had been carved first before the lines had been scorched and blackened. Connor smiles at her approval.

"I did not make the cats. I have no skill with that sort of thing. The bow is my creation though. I wanted to make something smaller and lighter for you that you can use with ease. Gaiachoton helped me make it. He suggested I design it after a young boy's bow, for use before he is a strong hunter, but made from the same wood as a man's bow for strength and durability. Do you like it?"

"I love it! I never thought I'd have something like this."

"You have earned it." He takes off the smaller quiver, which also bears a simple outline of a wildcat on it, and loops it over her head, crossing the strap over her chest and tying it on the bottom so it fits her tightly enough to stay in place. Catherine reaches over her shoulder and flaps her right hand over empty air before she locates the arrows. She takes the end of one and pulls it slowly upward until the tip clears the quiver and she can bring it down to look at it. The arrows, too, are shorter and more slender than Connor's. They are noticeably lighter and even the white feathers and flint arrow heads are smaller. Both the bow and arrows are almost dainty compared to Connor's equipment.  "You will have to get used to everything again. This bow will never be able to shoot as far as mine is designed to but you will be able to shoot farther than you have been because it is easier to draw. These arrows are lighter so they will fly far but they will lose some distance compared to mine because they are shorter. I am certain the combination will be fitting for your size and strength." Catherine is speechless. No one had ever put so much thought and effort into a gift for her. _How long did he spend working on this and thinking about how to amplify my strengths and downplay my weaknesses?_ Not only is it a weapon but it's a piece of art! The wildcats are a perfect finishing touch and make it truly hers. Catherine is touched by what Connor has done. She looks up at him and carefully hugs him while holding the bow and arrow in her hands.

"Thank you." Catherine murmurs into his chest, overcome by her emotions. Connor squeezes her tightly and then moves her back by her shoulders and gestures out toward the trees.

"Try it." he says.  Catherine takes aim at a tree not too far away and exclaims at the difference in the draw. She is able to pull the string much farther than Connor's bow and it feels strange, yet extremely natural. Despite the ease at which she can pull the string, there is still a lot of room for growth as she continues to build up her strength. To her surprise, she hits the tree she was aiming for but much higher up than she had been anticipating. Her arrow had flown straighter and farther than she had expected so she selects a more distant target to aim for next. The arrow hits that with a satisfying thunk, very close to where she had wanted it to. Taking aim at a much father target, she pulls as hard as she can on the string. The arrow falls short but Catherine is confident that with practice and greater strength she will be able to reach distant targets with ease.

Elated, she turns to Connor and throws her arms around his neck with a squeal of happiness. He returns her embrace with a surprised rumble and kisses her head.

"It's perfect! I love it!" Catherine whispers into his ear before kissing the side of his neck. Connor squeezes her tightly and relinquishes his hold on her. Taking his bow off his back, he demonstrates how to unstring it. The two bows are the same design so Catherine braces hers against her leg the same way to bend it and unhook the string. She has to use considerable effort to do it but she manages to unstring and restring it several times until Connor is happy with her technique.

Catherine hooks the bow over her body, running her thumb underneath the string where it crosses her chest from her sternum down to her abdomen. Connor shows her how he quickly removes his bow from its place with a circular motion of his wrist against one of the arms. Catherine's bow insists on tangling in her curls so they give up practicing that until another time when she is wearing her hair in braids. Together, they walk from tree to tree so Catherine can retrieve her arrows. She laughs with embarrassment when she misses her quiver and drops one on the ground behind her. Connor picks it up and waits for Catherine to turn and face him before reaching around her and dropping it into its place. He moves closer and crowds her in towards a tree until her back is against it. Compelled by their habits in this place, Catherine reaches up to him.

Connor touches his body against hers as they kiss. Their passion rapidly rises to a burning heat and they become breathless and drunk on each other's kisses. The soft, gentle kisses they had started with become deep and almost bruising in their ferocity. Wanting more, Connor runs his hands over Catherine's sides and then down to her hips. Catherine tightens her fingers in a handful of Connor's hair and she pulls on it so hard he wonders for a moment if she will actually tear some of it out. Such passionate aggression from her increases the intensity of his amorous enthusiasm. She gasps in a satisfying way when he pulls her against him with his hands on her bottom. Catherine slides her hands down the front of Connor's chest and together they fumble at each other's pant laces until Connor can tug Catherine's pants down her legs. She had kicked off her slippers in their frenzied efforts and as soon as her pants are off she reaches inside Connor's opened laces and takes him in hand, releasing him from the confines of his clothing. He picks her up and presses her back against the tree. Catherine wraps her legs around his hips, positioning him against herself quickly with one hand.

The moment she lets go of him he pushes into her, making her immediately cry out. The tree is hard behind her and the quiver and bow crossing her body are uncomfortable against her back but Catherine doesn't care. Her voice is only for the pleasurable friction that she now enjoys without limit; between her gasps and cries, she kisses Connor and clutches at his shoulders with a fervor that borders on desperation. His warm, broken breaths as he thrusts into her are incredibly arousing and Catherine feeds on them like a starving person. He takes his left hand from her thigh and slowly slides it up under her shirt to cup her breast. Catherine rests her head back against the tree and Connor takes advantage of her posture to taste the soft skin of her neck. He trails his tongue along her throat, punctuating his ardor with soft kisses and subtle grazes of his teeth. Within moments, the combination of his steady rhythm, his mouth on her neck and his thumb working her raised nipple brings her to a shuddering climax with a suddenness that takes them both by surprise.

Catherine's quick and unexpected peak accelerates Connor's urgency and he finds his release shortly afterwards. He kisses her slowly and softly when it is over, not wanting their liaison to end so soon, but Catherine untangles her legs from him and he lowers her to the ground. She is slightly unsteady on her feet and she holds onto his arms with a low, breathless laugh that fans the flames of his desire.

"Two gifts in one day… you spoil me far too much!" She looks over her shoulder at him as she bends to pick up her pants and turn them right side out.

"I would give you more but you are in a rush to get dressed." His voice is disapproving but his eyes caress her exposed buttocks and legs, their smooth curves inviting and teasing him mercilessly as he reties his laces over himself. He moves closer behind her and takes her around her waist as she stands to pull her pants up. His right hand wanders to the opened front of her pants and starts to slide downwards as he brushes his lips against the side of her head. Catherine sighs regretfully and turns her face into his exploring kisses.

"If I could, I would stay here with you for hours but I can't. I really should get back to Anika. We need to finish that shirt for Sonehso:wa today. There won't be time for it tomorrow." Connor bemoans her willpower and retracts his hand from her pants, giving her a gentle smack on her bottom.

"Very well. I know better than to get between women and their wedding plans." Catherine ties her laces hastily before turning and reaching to Connor's arms. She slowly runs her hands up their dark, muscled length and then slides them over his shoulders and up his neck to his face. He leans into her kiss and pulls her close, making one last attempt to convince her to stay. Catherine bites his bottom lip just before pulling away. She cocks an eyebrow at him meaningfully and then deliberately turns around and walks toward the chestnut. After he has helped her onto her horse, Connor smiles at her feisty transformation and watches her ride away at a canter towards the village. The bow and quiver on her back are perfect for her wild ways and his smile turns into a self satisfied smirk at his accomplishment and the extra fun that had spontaneously developed from giving it to her. The white feathers of the last arrow she shot catch his eye. It had been forgotten when they had become so distracted by each other. Picking it up, he drops it into his quiver and starts to walk back to the village.

***

Anika is nervous and the hours grow late as she and Catherine sit together with their backs against the side wall of the longhouse, whispering in the darkness. Everyone around them had fallen asleep long ago and only the occasional sounds of a nocturnal animal outside or a quiet mutter or snore from a sleeping person inside breaks the quiet monotony of the night.

"Do you think I'm making the right decision?" Anika asks, staring up at the shelf above their heads, her hand tightening in Catherine's.

"I think you are. Sonehso:wa loves you and unless I somehow don't know you as well as I thought, you love him just as much."

"It's just that… he's been with some of the other women here. It's… socially acceptable, though not necessarily outright encouraged, to have casual sexual relations with people you aren't married or committed to."

"Ani, if that's their culture, how can you expect him to have behaved differently than what he knows before he met you? Ratonhnhake:ton's no virgin, either. He was with a woman Assassin from New York before but I don't care. Sonehso:wa is probably one of the best looking men here and the object of many women's interest. Even _I_ can't help looking at him and I don't have any interest in bedding him!" Anika laughs quietly and sighs.

"I guess I'm not so worried about him. He never hid that I wasn't his first. It's the other women I worry about. Will they treat me differently because I'm the one who finally got him?"

"Do you have any reason to think they will?"

"There are two women who are very cold towards me. I suspect it's because they've lain with Sonehso:wa and feel more for him than a passing lust."

"Who cares? They'll have to accept that he's made his choice and it isn't either of them. It may not be that, you know."

"What do you mean? It has to be that."

"No. It could be simply because you're so pretty. Ani, I'm so grateful to have you in my life and I love you with all my heart yet even with how long I've known you, I've found myself jealous of your beauty and self conscious in your presence many times. You do draw eyes to you wherever you go and I'm just a plain, brown mouse beside you."

"What? That's nonsense, Cat! I've dreamed of looking like you for years!"

"What ever for? You're the one with the body men want and the face of an angel."

"And a crooked smile and hair that won't ever be anything other than straight as a pin. Cat... it isn't always good to have people… men… looking at you all the time, you know. I don't like it. Sometimes it's flattering but most of the time it's not. It would be nice to be able to walk around and not stand out." Catherine laughs out loud before catching herself and covering her mouth.

"Well that'll never happen. Not here, where we're both white and have light eyes… and you and your blonde hair." She touches her disobedient curls and finishes her thought.  "But you don't want this mess, I can assure you. These curls… they're the bane of my existence. Besides, none of that matters. Sonehso:wa likes you for more than your appearance or hair, though I do see him touching it all the time. I swear he thinks you're that corn spirit." It's Anika's turn to cover her mouth to hold in her laughter. They sit quietly shoulder to shoulder for some time.

"Cat…"

"Hmm?"

"Will you be alright when Sonehso:wa comes here to live with us?"

"I'll be fine."

"Be honest with me."

"I am. I admit it will be hard to sleep alone but it won't be for a terribly long time."

"Cat! Have you finally decided to marry that poor, smitten man?"

"Maybe… yes. There's really no reason not to. My silly, cynical heart likes to try to take control but I know what we feel for each other is true and real. Not like what I thought I had with Francisco. Nothing like that."

"Oh! Hell has frozen over!" Anika nearly falls over laughing and Catherine pinches the inside of her elbow.

"Ow! You'll leave a mark!"

"It would serve you right."

"Well, I'm glad you've decided to let Ratonhnhake:ton be your husband. He would do anything for you. I hope you appreciate that."

"I do, Ani." Catherine kisses her friend's cheek and draws her down next to her on the sleeping area.

"We should sleep. You have an exciting day tomorrow and you have to look your best. It wouldn't do for one of the most handsome men in the village to be marrying a woman with bags under her eyes."

"Look at these lazy bears! Turtles never sleep so late!" Ori:te'hiyo scolds with a laugh as she walks over to where Anika and Catherine are just waking up. From the look of the light outside, it is only just past sunrise. Not exactly a late morning in the women's opinions. Katsi'tenhiyo is carrying a large basket and she seems more docile than usual. She slides the basket onto the empty sleeping area across from the two women and sits down next to it. Only the day before, Anika had watched as Ori:te'hiyo had flung a bowlful of cold water onto her daughter after she had made a saucy quip to one of her requests. The child had immediately become contrite and had complied with her mother's request, shamefaced and only barely holding in her tears. Her clothing had stayed wet for some time afterwards and she had run from the sight of the elder members of the tribe whenever she saw them looking at her with disapproval. It seems she had learned from her rather public and embarrassing punishment and was making an effort to prove that she is a well behaved child.

"I wanted to bring this for you before your clan starts to ready you for the ceremony. Catherine and I worked on it for you. I hope you like it." Ori:te'hiyo nods to her daughter and she lifts the cover of the basket and takes out two items. She crosses the distance to stand in front of Anika where she sits with her feet hanging off the side of the platform. The girl presents the outfit to Anika in her raised arms.

"It is made of rabbit fur." Anika takes the top item, a long tunic, and stands up to hold it against herself. She runs her hand down the soft fur that adorns the shoulders, extends down in a vee over the bust and touches the complex embroidery and beaded patterns making up the bear design over the front of it. The embroidered area is a large diamond shape, wider than it is tall, with its sides narrowing at the waist line. The top point rests just below her bust and the bottom one reaches down to below her navel. It almost resembles a wide belt or a narrow corset. The beaded area is in the center of the diamond, with the bear inside that. Anika takes the other item from the girl. It is a matching pair of white hide leggings with green embroidery up the sides and framing where they split at the front of her ankles.

"They're beautiful! I don't know what to say! Thank you both." She smiles at Catherine where she sits beside her and then over at Ori:te'hiyo. Katsi'tenhiyo looks up and speaks to Anika.

"I made these for your feet." The girl reaches into a fold of her tunic and produces the beaded moccasin tops she had been working on. Anika lowers the rabbit fur items to the bed and kneels down to take the moccasin tops from the child.

"Thank you, Katsi'tenhiyo. I'm honored to wear them. Maybe Cat will sew them onto my moccasins for me while I get dressed for today." The child looks into Anika's eyes for a long time, studying her. Slowly, she steps forward and Anika is surprised when she puts her arms around her neck in a hug. Anika hugs her back until the girl releases her.

"You can be my friend." Katsi'tenhiyo whispers before backing up and almost bumping into her mother. Anika smiles at the girl.

"I think we'll be very good friends." The girl turns and runs out of the longhouse, her braids bouncing on her back. Anika rises to her feet and faces Ori:te'hiyo.

"That was unexpected." Ori:te'hiyo smiles and shrugs her shoulders.

"I knew she would come to you. She is very close to Sonehso:wa. Sharing him is hard for her but she has to learn to do it. I am glad it is with you. I think it is why she has been so… difficult these past few days." Ori:te'hiyo embraces Anika and kisses her cheek with tender affection.

"I cannot stay to help you get ready. It is not my place as a Turtle. But know that I love you as a mother loves her daughter… and as I love Sonehso:wa." Anika trembles slightly from the woman's kind words.

"Thank you. For accepting me and for your many gifts. You will be a mother to me always, and a friend." The women step back from each other and smile.

"I must go. I will see you when you and my husband's son marry." Her hand slips down Anika's arm and she squeezes her fingers lightly. When she is gone, Anika heaves a sigh.

"What an extraordinary woman! Her heart must be made completely of love and kindness. I wish more people were like her." Catherine gets up and takes Anika's hand.

"You're like her. That's why she loves you so much."

"Stop it, you'll make me cry!" Anika laughs.

The women of the Bear Clan gather to help Anika get ready, once again scrubbing her until she feels as if her skin will peel right off of her body. While they work on her, Catherine braids her own hair into two long plaits that hang down the front of her shoulders. She has gotten quite adept at working around her defiant curls and she is ready to take over when the women are done. She approaches her friend with the tiny remaining bit of soap Anika had originally brought with her from Albany and washes her reddened skin gently with it, making sure to lather her hair as well. The flowery perfume fills the air of the longhouse as the last particle of the bar dissolves in the water.

"Well, that's the end of an era…" Anika laments.

"It's worth it. Another new beginning. A good one!" Catherine rinses Anika's hair out and squeezes the excess water from it. She parts it into sections and dries it as much as possible with one of the cotton shifts they no longer wear. Twisting her hair into loose ropes, she winds each one up and pins it in place with the hair pins Anika had carefully saved after she and Sonehso:wa had fled Albany together. When her head is covered in a strange collection of twisted loops, she sits wrapped in a large fur in the sun coming in the end of the longhouse to let her hair dry. After what seems like an eternity, with Catherine checking the status of her hair several times, she is ready to get dressed. The women lead her to the center of the longhouse again and help her into her new white outfit. The tunic has no sleeves and it falls to just below her knees. Catherine laces her into it from the back, satisfied with how neatly it fits her body and admiring how small the dark, embroidered portion makes her waist look. The other women of the clan make comments about Anika's uniquely designed outfit and the way it fits the contours of her body. They all join the two women when they move to the well lit entrance of the longhouse to watch as Catherine takes out the pins holding Anika's hair up. It has dried into large waves and loose curls; Anika holds up one of the spirals and laughs.

"It looks like I'll have your curls after all!"

"Just this once!" Catherine carefully parts Anika's hair down the middle and draws it back from her face. She secures the curls with pins so they fall in a graceful golden cascade down her back. Tsihskoko and Raonraon eagerly wait for their opportunity to help deck Anika out in as much jewelry as they can. She is given a wooden armband and several bracelets made of wood, shell and woven cloth. Two necklaces are tied around her neck; one is made of shortened porcupine quills and is worn tight to her slender throat and one is loose and hangs down over her breasts, made of wide pieces of shell, wooden beads and clusters of glass beads threaded together. A few small baubles are tied into her curls and she is ready. Catherine holds out the moccasins embellished with Katsi'tenhiyo's beaded tops and Anika steps into them carefully.

"You look incredible!"

"I feel like one of those expensive, painted dolls imported from China…" Anika says rather haltingly.

"Good." Catherine walks to their shared section of the longhouse and takes down the basket containing Anika's gifts for Sonehso:wa.

"Ready?"

"No, but it's too late now, isn't it?" Anika whispers as the Bear Clan Mother and the Bear Chief beckon to Anika to accompany them to the Turtle longhouse. She takes the basket from Catherine and hugs her friend tightly.

"Go. We'll all be right behind you." Catherine reassures her. Anika walks out of the longhouse behind the dignified older man and elderly woman while the entire group of women who had helped her get ready, including Catherine, follow a short distance behind them. They are joined by the men of the Bear Clan and the entire entourage crosses the distance to the Turtle Clan longhouse. Many of the clan members have opted to wear their nicer clothing and most of the men, including the Chief of the Bear Clan, are wearing closely fitting feathered hats with three long feathers from a large bird pointed upwards in a fan shape. The bottom edge of the cap is beaded in a complex pattern and fits tightly on their heads. Both the Chief and the Clan Mother wear their most elaborate ceremonial attire, making for a colorful and festive atmosphere. Many of the Wolf Clan watch the procession with smiles of joy for another happy couple joining together. The members of the Bear Clan are welcomed at the door by the Turtle Clan Mother and the Turtle Chief and Anika is led inside by them. They, too, are dressed in their best.

Anika squints in the darkness inside and tries to make out the people she knows in the crowd. It seems like the entire Turtle Clan is present, both men and women, packed into the space beyond the second fireplace. Gaiachoton is wearing a feathered cap with a single large feather affixed straight up from his head. He stands with Ori:te'hiyo and their daughter on one side nearest the fireplace and Anika takes a breath of relief upon catching sight of them. Connor is nearby, standing with a few other men about his age. He nods at her when her eyes find him. Slowly, more faces she recognizes come into focus, yet her nerves refuse to settle. The members of the Bear Clan enter behind her and settle on the other side of the fireplace, leaving room for the two Clan Mothers and two Clan Chiefs to stand with Anika in between them. Suddenly Sonehso:wa appears from among the crowd and makes his way over to face Anika, carrying a basket of his own. He is dressed in white as well and he stands out like a beacon among the darker colors of those all around them. He, like his father, is wearing a cap with only one feather standing up from his head. Anika can't tear her eyes off of him. He wears no shirt; only white hide leggings with a traditional breechclout that hangs from his waist to almost his knees. The breechclout is dyed a deep yellow color and is decorated with many horizontal pieces of blackened bone or wood attached parallel to each other down the length of it. A white belt holds the breechclout on him and is beaded and embroidered with green and black deer. The color selection is no doubt a suggestion or creation of Ori:te'hiyo's, Anika muses with a smile.

Sonehso:wa's long hair shines in the firelight and in the light that comes in through the holes in the roof of the longhouse. He has many more feathers decorating it than usual and he wears a massive necklace that hangs down his bare chest. It is strung with whole shells of a freshwater mollusk and feathers dangle from it as well. His upper arms are both embellished with wide, gleaming metal armbands with some narrow sections of colorful string tied above and below each one. The long ends of the string dangle loosely from his arms and a feather is tied onto one of them on each side. Even more impressive and eye-catching than his regalia and jewelry is the white paint that decorates his skin. Diagonal lines of white zig-zag down his arms from his shoulders to his wrists and contrast with his dark skin. Two thick lines extend from the outer corners of his eyes and curve down the sides of his face and neck. Just above his collar bones, they start to curve inward, crossing over his chest and ending in a point near the bottom of his sternum. A third line of white runs vertically down his face from the center of his hairline, over his nose, lips, chin and neck and stops just above the point formed by the other lines. Two shorter lines extend at an angle from his cheek bones and meet the lines that mark the sides of his face. They remind Anika of the antlers of a deer.

When the couple stands facing each other in front of the large fire pit that separates the two clans, the Bear Chief raises both his arms in the air. The people immediately become hushed as they wait for the wedding to start. Sonehso:wa's face is smooth and serious as he looks at Anika, but his eyes shine and the corners of them crinkle in the tiniest hint of a smile. The Bear Clan Chief makes a speech to all in attendance. He speaks in English for Anika's benefit and she bows her head, grateful for his kindness in acknowledging her lack of fluency in the Kanien'keha language. Though she doesn't know him as well as the Bear Clan Mother, he had always been kind and welcoming to her and Catherine, spending time on occasion to make sure they were comfortable and exchanging pleasantries and idle talk with them.

Anika finds it difficult to concentrate on the Bear Chief's words. Her mind is reeling and spinning as she stands before so many people, more than when she and Catherine were adopted. Sonehso:wa is breathing deeply and she locks her eyes on his chest and watches the subtle movements of the large shells and wooden beads as they shift with each of his breaths. Her own breathing feels restricted by the fitted garment she wears and the tight necklace that is tied around her throat. As her nerves continue to make her body tense and her heart race, she follows Sonehso:wa's necklace up until her vision switches to the lines of white paint on his skin. She moves along the center line and stares at his throat, the curve of his chin and upwards to his lips, finally settling on his dark eyes. An extremely thin sliver of white is drawn along his bottom eyelids, making his eyes look even blacker. His steady gaze is like a rush of cool air through the longhouse and Anika uses it to strengthen her resolve and settle her nerves.

At last the Bear Chief finishes his oration and it is time for the giving of their gifts to each other. Anika and Sonehso:wa kneel and exchange their baskets. Inside the one Sonehso:wa has given Anika is a newly made knife with a metal blade, two white fox pelts with their black tipped tails and the massive teeth and claws from a large, predatory animal. His gifts show that he is capable of providing tools, hides, food and protection to Anika and any children she bears.

Sonehso:wa smiles at Anika when she raises her head to look at him. She returns it and gives him a small nod to open his basket. He does and lifts out the shirt she had been working on for weeks. It is a black hide shirt and she had spent endless hours constructing and embroidering it. The entire front of it is a depiction of a deer standing in profile on a background of a fiery sun. The only bead she had used was a single jet black one for the eye of the animal. Everything else is embroidered with dyed thread and thin strips of hide. The bottom edge of the shirt and along the undersides of the arms are tassels and porcupine quills that dangle down, with a few small feathers tied on for extra effect. Anika is quite proud of her handiwork and knows it represents her ability to clothe both of them with well made and beautiful things. Also in the basket are some ears of corn, dried beans and strips of cloth bandages to demonstrate her willingness to keep him and their family fed and healthy.

Sonehso:wa smirks at her inclusion of bandages and Anika almost laughs. She had occasionally prodded him about refusing to let her help after he had sustained his injuries in Albany and he never failed to attempt brushing them off as not worth the effort. He had continued to be indifferent when it came to any minor injuries he would sustain when training with Connor and Anika had found it to be one of the few points of contention they had together. Her presentation of the bandages was something she had mulled over for some time and she had finally decided to be unbending in her determination to continue giving him aid, no matter how unwilling he is about it.

They set their baskets to the side and Sonehso:wa takes Anika's hands to raise her to her feet. He wants to pick her up and kiss her, to delve his fingers deep into that cloud of golden curls that surrounds her, but absolutely no one would approve of that, especially not the elders. He does, however, whisper softly to her.

"Thank you, my beautiful wife…" Anika squeezes his hands, a radiant smile blooming on her face. She quickly lowers her head and looks at the floor as embarrassment starts to warm her neck and cheeks. Sonehso:wa seems so confident under the scrutiny of everyone present; he doesn't seem to care that his words, combined with the smoky darkness of his eyes, are laced with incredible intimacy. His fingers stroking her hands makes her look up again at him.

"My husband!" she whispers back with a sudden surge of boldness. Both of them quickly compose themselves when both the Clan Mothers and Chiefs turn to face them. Anika and Sonehso:wa separate and each go to the other's clan for ceremonial instruction on how to treat their new mate. The elders of each clan welcome the young people to them with open arms and move to the opposite ends of the longhouse for their discussions while the rest of the members of both clans exit to prepare for the feast and celebrations to follow. Though Gaiachoton is not nearly old enough to be considered an elder, he is included as the only member of Sonehso:wa's Onondowaga tribe there. He is given a place of precedence beside Anika and allowed to speak first on his tribe and clan's behalf. His lighthearted words and affectionate mannerisms are relaxing to listen to and Anika is grateful for his presence.

"You must be sure to let him win some arguments. Sometimes. He will try to win them all but you must not let him get too arrogant." Anika gasps at his concluding words and the man laughs loudly and brings his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close in a one-armed hug.

"He can be a stubborn man. His father speaks wisely, even if he is not as serious as he should be for this honor." The Turtle Clan Mother chides the man and Anika takes his hand briefly in a gesture of her understanding of his half-joking words. She is well aware of Sonehso:wa's stubborn nature and knows there will be times that she will not win disagreements with him.

The elders only detain them for a short time with their discussions on what is expected of them, knowing all in attendance are eager to commence with the dancing and singing that accompanies all weddings. The smell of grilling meats and fish had been wafting in from outside for some time. At last Anika and Sonehso:wa are given leave to join each other and they do so happily, twisting their fingers together and sneaking a quick kiss. Sonehso:wa takes a curly lock of hair from where it lies over Anika's shoulder and twirls it between his fingers. Gaiachoton approaches with Sonehso:wa's weapons and belongings collected together into a large basket as the elders exit the longhouse. The chatter that had been going on outside diminishes and Gaiachoton says something to his son in a completely unfamiliar language to Anika. Sonehso:wa laughs and his father joins him. They are like a matched pair, their features are so similar when they smile. The older man turns to Anika and places a hand affectionately on her shoulder.

"I told him I am proud of him but that if he does not treat you well I will send Katsi'tenhiyo over to whip him with a red willow branch until he has welts all over his body." Anika covers her mouth and laughs, somewhat shocked at his humorous threat. She believes Katsi'tenhiyo would gladly carry out that punishment and enjoy every moment of it.

"Thank you, father, for your concern. I hope I don't have to make use of Katsi'tenhiyo's whipping privilege." Gaiachoton smiles deeply at her words and her misuse of familial titles.

"I understand that it is the way of your culture for the families of both the husband and wife become one. That is not done here, yet somehow I know we will always be close and you will be as a daughter to me, just as Katsi'tenhiyo is. I could have lost Sonehso:wa when I moved here to be with my wife but he came with me even though he belongs to the sister of his mother and will always be a Deer. The Turtle Clan accepted him long ago as one of their own, even though he was not adopted and I am so happy that they welcomed the Bear Clan to their longhouse for the wedding as if he were one of their own." He slaps his bemused son on his back and smiles at Anika, gesturing to the door of the longhouse.

"Take your new husband and go from here! We have had enough of him. He is the problem of the Bear Clan now!" He laughs robustly and Sonehso:wa shakes his head, clearly used to tolerating his father's antics. Anika gathers up her basket with Sonehso:wa's gifts in it and waits for Sonehso:wa to pick up his and take her by the hand. Gaiachoton leaves the longhouse first with Sonehso:wa's belongings and his appearance whips up the crowd into a loud cheer just in time for the new couple to exit. A steady beating of drums picks up and they are accompanied by it and most of the two clans to the Bear Clan longhouse to deposit their things as Sonehso:wa is officially moved into Anika's space there. They emerge and everyone cheers and claps their hands. The men start up a song as they move toward the communal fire pit in the center of the village. The Wolf Clan has joined them as well and their men lend their voices and instruments to the song.

Catherine stands with Connor and watches as Anika and Sonehso:wa emerge from the Bear Clan longhouse. Now that the formalities are over with, both of them appear much more relaxed. Beside her, Connor is dressed more formally than she had ever seen him. He wears a shirt with rows of red stitching crossed by white beading, a red belt and a hide breechclout. A large, beaded necklace hangs from his neck with a palm sized disc shaped pendant on it and two polished wooden armbands enclose his upper arms. His voice joins with the other men in the stirring song that fills the air. Every man in attendance is singing and the sound is rich and resonant with the many deep voices. Catherine watches Connor with fascination as he sings; he is smiling as he does, fully engrossed in the song by the time Anika and Sonehso:wa reach the fire pit. He is truly happy for his friend and it shows in his face and voice. When he speaks, his tone is usually soft and measured but now, it is as full of emotion and passion as she has only seen when he has been deeply moved. Catherine has experienced only three extremities of Connor's emotional spectrum: righteous anger, the most heartfelt love and an inestimable well of sadness. The rest of the time he confines the middling sentiments under a mask of calm composure. It is how she expects him to behave unless he is unusually pressed or unguarded. Seeing him so joyful and enthusiastic is like watching the sun break free of dense clouds to reveal the details of the world around her in a bounty of color. Catherine finds herself staring at him, drinking in the way his face has become so open to his happiness and seeing a sweet innocence in his eyes of the youth that was taken from him all those years ago. She wants to touch his face, to feel the spark of a life that, under different circumstances, might have been.

Connor turns to face Catherine and she is looking up at him open-mouthed, her eyes wide and intent on his face. She smiles at him with a soft exhalation and he takes his hand from hers and brings it around her waist, pulling her close as he sings. She hugs him tightly and then rests her hand on his chest over his heart. He isn't sure but it almost looked as if there were tears in her eyes before she hid her face against him. His voice falters for a moment and she looks up at him once more and Connor is reassured that it must have been his imagination.

The song draws to a close, making way for the feasting and festivities to begin. After eating, Catherine demurs from dancing until her two young companions from earlier approach excitedly. With a secret smile, she rises to her feet, strangely shy and unsure about Raonraon and Tsihskoko's persuasions and rather exaggerated begging. The music being played is one of the traditional women's dances and Connor can't help but smile when Catherine looks over her shoulder at him with a look of horror on her face as she is led away by both her hands by the girls. She appears to be laughing just before she is out of sight in the crowd and he squints, trying to see her through the throngs of people. When he catches sight of her, she is in the middle of the dancing, performing every step in time with the other women. No wonder she looked so suspicious. How long had she been practicing without him knowing? Anika runs over to her and squeezes in between the two girls and Catherine laughs with unbridled surprise and delight when she joins in the steps perfectly with a smug expression on her face while their two young companions giggle excitedly. Apparently Anika had been practicing secretly as well. Sonehso:wa is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, watching his bride as she and her sister and young friends dance and laugh with giddy abandon along with the rest of the women. Connor gets up and moves through the crowd to him.

Sonehso:wa tilts his head in the direction of the women.

"Did you know they could dance to our songs?" Connor shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. His friend throws his head back and laughs loudly. Anika looks over in their direction and elbows Catherine, pointing to them. Anika waves her fingers coyly at her husband and Catherine opens her mouth in a round, surprised "O" shape with her eyebrows rising high on her forehead. She covers her mouth in mock embarrassment and then her laugh carries to Connor from across the distance. He only shakes his head at her with a narrow eyed smirk. So as not to be outdone by their women, both Connor and Sonehso:wa participate in the dancing with as much zeal as they can, much to the delight of Catherine and Anika.

The celebrations last far into the evening hours. Over on the outskirts of the crowd, Catherine catches Anika and Sonehso:wa creeping away stealthily from the celebrations and into the Bear Clan longhouse. They are not as undetected as they had hoped, for their bright white attire stands out even in the moonlight. No one stops them, though; they are more than happy to let the newlyweds go. Anika's words from the night before pierce Catherine more sharply than she had anticipated. Not only will she be sleeping alone tonight, she will do so knowing Anika is beginning a future with the man she loves by her side. With a sigh, she knows she only has herself to blame for being in this situation. Brushing aside her jealousy of her friend's happiness and attempting to hold onto the evening's atmosphere of celebration, Catherine smiles for Connor whenever he looks at her. Despite her attempts at conviviality, her melancholy only grows stronger as the night deepens.

At last, with a heavy heart, Catherine walks with Connor toward the Bear longhouse. He stops just outside the entrance and turns her to face him. He tugs on one of her braids lightly.

"You are not yourself tonight." Catherine smiles and looks at the ground.

"I'm fine," she contradicts. When Connor remains silent in the darkness, Catherine raises her head up. His eyes shine in the moonlight and his lips are slightly compressed. He studies her face with concern but does not press the subject. Instead, he cups her cheek with one hand and leans down to kiss her. His kiss is soft and light, neither lingering nor too short. When he draws back he once again gazes into Catherine's eyes, searching for anything further from her but she remains quiet and unyielding. She wants to throw herself into his arms and beg him to spend the night with her but she is afraid of appearing weepy and weak. The time at the cabin when she had been so miserable still makes her feel shameful and unattractive so she squares her shoulders and works harder at her façade. Connor speaks softly to her.

"Very well. You know where I am when you are ready to talk to me." Catherine feels a burst of irritation well up at his words. What has she been trying so hard for tonight if not to keep him from having to listen to her petty woes? The expression on Connor's face is heartbreaking when he turns away from her and walks toward the Turtle longhouse. She has disappointed him by not being honest. He knew she was lying yet she did not yield. He is out of sight by the time Catherine's odd ire fades and she whispers his name into the darkness.

Catherine looks down the length of the longhouse towards where she knows Anika and Sonehso:wa are lying together, probably making love. She knows she can't go in there. It would be too awkward. Instead, she wanders over toward the river and stares across its rushing breadth at the opposite shore. She doesn't know how long she stands there but when a shiver traverses her body in the chill of the night air, she finds the village silent and dark behind her. Unwilling to go inside, Catherine paces along the sandy shore with her arms around herself. She contemplates her strange emotional state.

Sadness grips her heart yet she knows it is unreasonable. She chose not to take the steps needed to marry Connor and she is happy for Anika and Sonehso:wa but somehow she had managed to avoid thinking logically about what her friend's marriage and future would mean for her. She knew she would be somewhat jealous and lonely while Anika sleeps so close by with Sonehso:wa. She knew it would be a difficult transition until the time comes for her to have Connor with her. Yet even after all the conversations with Anika and Ori'te:hiyo, the many times she had reminded herself that she has never loved anyone the way she loves Connor, she waits. What is she waiting for? She sighs and shakes her head. How can she be so sure of something yet so afraid of it at the same time? Her indecision causes tears to finally rise in her eyes. Whenever she thinks she is ready to take action, something terrifying and powerful drags her down again. It is as if she is anchored in place and if she tries to escape the tether it cuts into her painfully and threatens to rip her heart from her body.

Not for the first time, she wishes her father were still alive. She could tell him anything and he would listen to her and guide her when she needed it. She wonders if he would have called off the wedding if she had told him her worries. But he had been so weak by then she isn't so sure he could have borne the concept of leaving her without protection. Catherine shakes her head, frustrated. What is the sense of rehashing that argument anymore? There is none, and she dashes her angry tears away with her hand.

Her nervous anxiety makes her restless and she starts to wander along the river. She passes the large stone she and Connor like to sit on when they can find a few minutes to spend alone and picks her way over rocks and branches in the darkness. A man's voice startles her.

"You should not be out here." One of the men stationed outside to guard the village approaches her quietly. Compared to his light-footed steps, Catherine feels like a clumsy beast.

"I'm just walking."

"There are dangerous animals nearby. It is not safe. Go back." His voice is stern and he gestures with his bow towards the village.

"Alright." Catherine sighs as she turns around. She slowly makes her way back toward the big rock near the palisade. When she turns to sit on it the hunter who had directed her to return is right there. She hadn't even heard him following her.

"You do not go in. Why?" He queries.

"I can't right now. I just… can't." The man nods his head, the motion barely discernable in the moonlight. He passes Catherine and continues on into the silent village, leaving her wondering what he is up to. She doesn't have long to wonder because a short time later Connor climbs up onto the rock carrying some furs. Immediately, all Catherine's worries and bothersome feelings of upheaval well up and choke out her voice. A quiet sound in the back of her throat is all she can manage and Connor kneels down and wraps her in one of the warm furs before folding her into his arms and holding her close.

"Why are you not able to sleep? Tell me what is wrong, WildCat…" He sounds tired and Catherine shakes her head against Connor's chest and squeezes a handful of his shirt in her fist with a tremulous inhalation. She feels guilty that he was woken up because of her troubles.

"I…just need to sort out my thoughts."

"What are you thinking about?" Catherine shakes her head again and doesn't answer for fear of revealing the tears that have sprung up in her eyes.

"I cannot help if you do not tell me."

"There's nothing you can do to help me!" Catherine cries, her tears running down her cheeks and wetting Connor's shirt.

"I can try." Connor's voice remains low and steady despite Catherine's outburst.

"Why? It's all just in my head and… I don't even know how to fix it.  Why should you bother?" Connor kisses her head and squeezes her shoulders.

"Because I love you; that is why. I would not be a good husband to you if I did not care about things like this." All the air leaves Catherine's lungs in a sigh and she closes her eyes tightly and tries to collect her thoughts. A long silence stretches before she can say anything.

"You aren't my husband. I want you to be but I'm unable to… commit my life again. Anika and Sonehso:wa are so happy but I can't be near them tonight in our longhouse. I'm jealous of what they have because I can't have it. It sounds so petty when I say it but, my God… it hurts so much."

"You can have it. I am right here." Catherine sits up in his arms and wipes her face with both of her hands. Her dark eyebrows are gathered together on her forehead and display the depth of her concern.

"It's not that simple. I can't explain it. I can't understand it. It makes me angry and sad and then I take it out on you." Her voice has grown thick and watery from her tears.

"Then do not try to understand it. It does not change how I feel."

"That's part of why it's so upsetting. It isn't fair to you."

"Many things are unfair. What happened to you was unfair. What it has continued to do to you is unfair. But your love for me is not unfair. It means the same whether you are my wife or not. I am content with that." Catherine drops her forehead against his chest and nods. Her body trembles under his arms as she contains her weeping. Connor agonizes over Catherine's quandary. While he is truly content with whatever she is ready and willing to commit to, he worries about it consuming her. He has had a lot more time to learn how to compartmentalize what he doesn't understand and keep it from eating away at his psyche. He remembers when he was half as old as he is now. He was afraid and confused about many things. The road had been a long, difficult one to where he is today. Catherine will eventually have to face sleeping in her longhouse with Sonehso:wa there so he will do everything he can to help her through it. Tonight, though, he needs to keep her as far from what pains her as possible. At least he can do that.

The stars above tell Connor that it is well past midnight and there is not much night left. Lack of sleep will only make Catherine's emotional state more fragile so he gently sits her back and spreads out the other furs he brought on the flat rock. She takes off her necklace and armband and sets them safely to the side where they will not fall into the river before lying down with Connor, her body curled into the curve created by his chest, stomach and legs. When he pulls a fur over them and brings his arm around her she takes it in both of her hands and holds it tightly to her chest. Her warm breaths swirl around his fingers and she kisses them softly a few times, tucking his hand under her chin and against her neck afterward. Catherine's heart beats against Connor's wrist as he allows himself to relax into sleep.

Catherine wakes up just as Connor does and they both wince from the uncomfortably hard surface of the rock. They sit up and watch the color of the sky reflecting off the surface of the river as the sun begins to rise. As the sounds of the village waking up starts to carry to them, they gather up their things and slowly make their way toward the palisade. At the entrance to the Bear longhouse Catherine hesitates but Connor urges her to go inside with a gentle nudge of his elbow against the back of her upper arm. She looks up at him doubtfully but he lowers his head in a slow nod of firm expectation. Catherine walks slowly inside and quietly approaches her section. Her eyes are drawn to Anika and Sonehso:wa's side despite her best efforts to keep them strictly to the floor and her own sleeping area. Their white clothing is folded neatly and stacked on the upper shelf over their bed along with their baskets from the wedding and all of Sonehso:wa's things. Catherine's eyes drop to the blankets and furs tangled around the couple's legs and partially covering their lower bodies. Anika lies on her back and her arm is up over her head. Her face is turned toward the middle of the longhouse and is framed by her hair, which lies in a golden heap around her neck and beside her body. Even in deep sleep she is the prettiest woman Catherine has ever known. Sonehso:wa lies mostly on his stomach with an arm thrown carelessly over Anika's body, his hand spanning the side of her ribcage just below one of her perfect breasts. Sonehso:wa's long, black hair covers some of his back and shoulders but a lot of it has fallen down beyond Catherine's view into the shadowy space between his body and the side of the longhouse.

Catherine deliberately turns her back to them and faces her sleeping area. Several furs and her blanket are spread out neatly, ready for her to use them, no doubt the work of Anika. A small smile flickers across her mouth as she thinks about Anika taking the time to do such a thing for her when she could have just used every moment for herself and her husband. Quickly, she changes out of her clothes from the night before into a soft, hide skirt and a more casual top. She hangs her jewelry up and puts away her discarded clothes on the shelf. When she turns around to leave, neither Anika nor Sonehso:wa have moved so Catherine quietly leaves them alone. Connor is waiting for her outside.

"You survived!" He smiles at her.

"Don't rub salt in it..." Catherine mumbles at him as they walk to the Turtle longhouse to eat breakfast with Gaiachoton, Ori:te'hiyo and Katsi'tenhiyo.

***

Soft scraping sounds wake Connor from his sleep and he sits up suddenly, reaching for his knife lying on the wooden platform built high above the ground in a large oak, defensive of his vulnerable position where he had been lying curled around Catherine's sleeping form. He leans over and looks carefully over the edge only to see Sonehso:wa's face turned up to him. Connor pulls the blanket over to cover Catherine's nakedness, knowing she would not want his friend to see her in an "indisposed state" as she would say. He eases his body away from hers to get to his feet and pull his pants on. Sonehso:wa seems concerned where he has propped himself in a vee of the tree's branches so the two men climb down and walk a short distance away to converse.

"Brother, I checked the birds today. There is a new one and it had this attached to it." His face is grave as he lifts his hand, a tiny roll of paper between two of his fingers.

"I do not know what this means but it sounds bad. Or maybe good. For her." He nods in the direction of Catherine where still sleeps and gestures to the rolled up message. With dread in his heart, Connor takes it from his friend's hand. He knew this day would come. He had delayed his return as long as he had dared, knowing that every day he stays brings him closer to an urgent request for his direction. It seems that day has arrived.

Connor reads the short missive and carefully rerolls the shred of paper with a hard set to his jaw.

"My men need me. I have lingered too long here. I only hope we can stop this before it goes too far. I must wake Catherine and tell her." He takes his friend's shoulder in his outstretched hand.

"I am sorry, brother, that I must take the sister of your wife away so soon after your wedding."

"It must be done." Sonehso:wa nods without even a trace of his usual pomp and watches as Connor walks resolutely toward the tree and starts to climb up. He reaches Catherine and kneels down by her side to wake her with a hand on her shoulder. She sits up and Sonehso:wa disappears into the forest to give them privacy.

Only a few days had passed since Sonehso:wa and Anika had been married yet Connor and Catherine had spent most of those nights outside of the village on the platform in the woods. Anika had confronted Catherine the moment she saw her the day after her wedding. For the first time in years, Catherine had lied to her friend, assuring her that she and Connor had planned to give the newlyweds privacy on their wedding night days earlier. Ori:te'hiyo found her later and assured her that she was welcome in her section of the Turtle longhouse any time. Her eyes had driven home that "any time" included overnight stays. But Connor had other plans. The nights were still cool but he decided to set up a sleeping area on one of the many platforms built in the trees around the outside of the village. The one he selected had an easily climbable tree, even for Catherine, and she had been delighted with his idea.

When Catherine finishes reading the tiny note, comprised of several incomplete sentences containing cryptic information, she hands it back to Connor and pulls the blanket higher up under her armpits.

"Who's Aveline?"

"She is a high ranking Assassin in the Southern part of this land. I worked with her once shortly after the start of the war. Jamie must have contacted her when he found out Sergio had left New York under mysterious circumstances. If she has information she will only speak of in person, it must be dire. I will send word to my men that we are coming and request my ship from Davenport so it will be waiting for us in New York when we get there." He points to a line of numbers at the bottom of the paper.

"These are a date and coordinates for where we will meet with her. There is not much time. We must leave today." Catherine's eyes are wide with anxiety yet in the depths of them there is a firm note of anger that smokes and burns. It makes Connor uneasy. He takes her upper arm just below her shoulder in his left hand and clasps it tightly enough to get her full attention.

"You remember what you promised me… and why?" He looks into Catherine's eyes and searches them.

"Yes." Some of the fire fades from her and her lips compress ever so slightly.

"Do not forget it." Connor releases her arm to lightly caress her cheek with his fingertips. He then stands up to finish dressing. Catherine is subdued as she gathers her clothes up from where they had been dropped the evening before. What will happen if she encounters Sergio? The thought makes her intensely sick to her stomach.


	19. Haste

Connor and Catherine leave the village after they pack up the few things they need for their journey and eat a mid day meal. News of their imminent departure spreads fast and the Clan Mothers and Chiefs of all three clans personally wish them well on their travels. Catherine finds herself embraced by more members of the village than she had yet learned the names of. Their sadness is genuine and by the time Anika approaches with her arms outstretched, tears are falling down her cheeks. The two women embrace for some time and Catherine seriously considers reneging on her decision to leave but Anika finally steps back and sets her shoulders steadfastly.

"Don't you dare do anything foolish. If I hear that you get yourself hurt or killed, I'll personally find you and kill you myself. Again, if need be!" They laugh wetly through their tears and many of the villagers accompany them through the entrance and for a short distance beyond the palisade. When they finally lose sight of the last stragglers waving to them, Catherine slumps forward on the chestnut.

"Is it always this difficult when you leave?" Connor turns his head toward her and shakes it.

"No. I have come and gone like this for years. They are used to it. But you… they love you."

"They love you too!"

"It is not the same. I do not think anyone really believed you would leave. You will be greatly missed."

"You know I couldn't have stayed. Not when all of this is my fault, in a way." Connor slows his sturdy bay until they are riding closer together.

"It is not your fault. The actions of your father in law would have become of interest to us eventually. Your influence is a boon. We would not have known to look deeper into his actions so soon if not for you."

"Well…. that's good. I suppose…" Her voice trails off and her face twists into a grimace of uncertainty. The two of them ride quietly for some time, listening to the sounds of the surrounding forest, each of them lost in the quietude of their innermost thoughts. Catherine clenches her hands on the soft leather reins of her horse and works at not allowing her emotions to overwhelm her. The chestnut's mane shifts in the breeze and she leans forward to stroke the wiry hairs. Connor is only slightly ahead of her and she watches him closely. His back is very straight as he rides and the tendons are raised across the backs of his hands. The muscles in his jaw and neck twitch from time to time and though he scans the forest, alert and watchful, his eyes carry the look of thoughtful preoccupation.

Connor sets a rigorous pace. He pushes the horses and Catherine to stretch farther beyond limits she thought were possible. It is exhausting yet Connor does not slow down. Catherine doesn't question him on it; every day the look in his eyes that constantly speaks of his dedication to his responsibilities grows stronger. There is a flinty hardness in them, something Catherine had caught glimpses of in the past but had never seen in such clarity before. The creases she hates to see around his eyes and mouth are thin and fine but unmistakably there and even when she lies close to him at night and softly kisses his face, they remain etched on his features. He always kisses her in return yet his gently stroking fingers in her hair or on her back as they drift into sleep are mechanical and lacking a fundamental connection that is difficult to identify. His body is tense all the time, his mind is acutely occupied and he is clearly anxious to reach NY and beyond; wherever his ship will take them.

They make a brief stop at the cabin so Connor can retrieve a large bundle and a long sword from a top shelf of the storage room. The distance between the village and Connor's cabin, which had taken the four of them almost five entire days to travel a month ago, had only taken Connor and Catherine three and a half days. Everything is as they left it except for a light film of dust barely covering the horizontal surfaces and a staleness that permeates the air. The dust gives the place a transient, unlived-in feeling, making the cabin rather unwelcoming despite its familiarity and the broad spectrum of experiences Catherine had lived through within its four small walls. When Connor puts his items on the bed, a spume of dust rises into the air, slowly curling, and crosses a beam of sunlight coming in from the window. The sword is wrapped in rags and inside, the rather wicked looking serrated blade is smeared with bear grease to keep moisture off of the metal. Connor carefully cleans off the grease and sheathes the blade inside a leather scabbard. He unties the bundle sitting on the bed and examines the leather bracer with its hidden blade he had put on when revealing his affiliations to everyone. Another bracer, covered in heavy, white fabric and accented with several buttons around the upper portion, also contains a hidden blade and when Connor is satisfied with their function he places them on top of some folded white and blue clothing and wraps everything back up in the burlap. He retrieves the two pistols that hang near the door and a leather belt with holsters and multiple loops for weapons and sets them down on the hearth.

Catherine makes a warm lunch for them on a small fire in the fireplace. While she cooks, she watches Connor clean each of the guns thoroughly and examine them with a meticulous eye. He loads them both and takes them to the porch where he fires them into the gorge, shattering the otherwise peaceful quietude of the area. Back inside, he cleans and loads them once more, depositing them into the holsters of the belt. Taking off the belt he currently wears, he switches his hunting blade and tomahawk to the new belt and loops the scabbard with the sword onto it as well. Finally, he hefts the belt up and puts it around his waist, settling the many things dangling from it and tightening the buckle. Catherine has never seen so many weapons on one person before. She has no doubt Connor knows how to use all of them competently.

All too soon he looks at Catherine as he stands and she knows his words before he speaks them.

"We must keep going." What he doesn't say is expressed in his voice and eyes along with his steadfast determination: an apology of sorts. Catherine appreciates even that small allowance and rises to her feet in front of him. She reaches her hand to his in acknowledgment of his unspoken concern.

"I'm ready." Connor dips his head just a fraction, his golden eyes glinting with his inner thoughts. It is enough for Catherine. The last thing she wants is to delay their travels or be a hindrance to Connor's objective. He is a different person now; he has made the transformation back to being an Assassin. It had been happening since they left the village but it is almost as if the moment he put that thick, weapon laden belt around his waist he had completed his mental metamorphosis. While Ratonhnhake:ton is still there under the surface, with all his love for Catherine and all his compassion, that man is now in the shadow of the Assassin. He is quiet in Catherine's presence and she finds herself reminiscing about how he had been when he had found her all those months ago. He had spoken few words yet had tried his best to tell her his innermost thoughts even when she had not yet known how to read his eyes. He seems more like that silent, dangerous man now, giving off an air of dark, steely threat that saturates the space surrounding his body like an ink drop spreading on a piece of parchment.

Catherine turns and watches the little cabin receding behind them as they descend the slope alongside the gorge and rushing river. The burlap bundle is tied on behind her to lessen the load on the horse Connor rides. Though it is a bigger, stronger stallion, Connor's size and weighty weapons make for a heavy load. With such a long distance to travel and at the greatest speed Connor can coax out of the animals, distribution of weight is of paramount importance and can make the difference between a hale beast and a lame one.

Returning her view to the forest in front of her, Catherine breathes deeply of the air and steadies her resolve. The future is a frightening unknown yet she has placed a considerable amount of faith in Connor's promises and abilities. In doing so, she has also placed her trust in his Brotherhood, a group of men and women she has never met, with the exception of the Zenger's in New York. She wants to believe that they can accomplish what they intend but she is unable to prevent small tendrils of doubt from infiltrating her mind. Her faith is based entirely on what Connor has told her and on the brief but violent show of what he is capable of when he feels the need for justice to be delivered.

Anika becomes withdrawn and sad after Catherine leaves with Connor. Sonehso:wa is afraid he will never see her brilliant smile ever again. He does his best to give his wife the comfort she needs and he spends two restless nights holding her close and watching her twitch and moan in her sleep. Once, she had even cried out Catherine's name and woken with tears in her eyes. Anika had clung to him then, quietly telling him of her terrible dream.

Sonehso:wa considers asking the elders for help in banishing the spirits that torment his wife but when he mentions it to Ori:te'hiyo, she simply shakes her head.

"I know you want to help but give her time. She will banish them herself."

"She does not rest at night, mother! I cannot sleep watching her suffer."

"My son, let it be. She is afraid. You must not forget what her sister has gone through and who did it to her. Your wife has good reason for her fears. I worry as well but Catherine has Ratonhnhake:ton with her to keep her safe." Sonehso:wa raises his hands palm up in front of his body in an appealing gesture.

"She will not listen to my words when I say them. Maybe if you talk to her…" Ori:te'hiyo shakes her head slowly.

"No. You are her husband. You must be the one to bring her the comfort she needs. Be strong, my son. She needs you. Not a warrior, not a hunter, just you."

"My wife speaks with great wisdom." Gaiachoton says as he approaches from where he had been speaking with some other men nearby. Sonehso:wa turns toward him and raises one hand partly toward his forehead.

"Father... I feel weak."

"You are. We are all weak when our women suffer. But we are mighty if we stand and protect them. You must do this for her even if nothing seems right." Sonehso:wa nods at his father with a sigh. Ori:te'hiyo steps close and reaches up to his shoulder with a soft smile on her face.

"She will recover with your love." She says, nodding her head confidently. Sonehso:wa leans down and hugs her tightly.

"Thank you mother… father."

"Now go to her and stop frowning. That will just make her have more bad dreams." Her voice changes to the tone she uses when she scolds Katsi'tenhiyo but it is laced generously with compassion. Gaiachoton nods his head at his son and Sonehso:wa meets his eyes, knowing that he must emulate his father's good example. As he leaves the longhouse he looks back toward his father and smiles as he watches Gaiachoton taking Ori:te'hiyo in his arms comfortingly. She is looking up at him with some sadness in her face but much more love. Sonehso:wa wants nothing more than to make his marriage with Anika as happy and balanced as theirs.

In the Bear longhouse, Anika is straightening the furs on their bed. Her hair is loose and when Sonehso:wa gets close, he takes a section of the fine golden strands and runs his fingers down the length of them. Anika faces him as he reaches the ends of her hair and gives him a tired smile so Sonehso:wa raises his arms up, holding them open, and she immediately steps into his embrace.

"Come, Jitkwa':e. Do not stay inside here all day again. We will go for a walk." Anika squeezes him tighter and he kisses her softly.

Outside, the sun is shining and the day is warm. Sonehso:wa leads them down to the water's edge to skirt along the outside of the palisade and into the woods without having to pass by many of the villagers. They walk hand in hand without talking but look at each other from time to time and after a while, Anika's grip relaxes and she smiles easily at Sonehso:wa. They meander through the woods and eventually end up at the coop. Anika looks inside at the birds and her grip changes, tightening in Sonehso:wa's hand.

"There's something on one of the bird's legs!" Sonehso:wa is beside her in one stride, peering into the coop. He opens the little door and reaches inside to take the tiny oiled leather container off of the bird's leg. Anika backs herself against a nearby tree and covers her mouth with both of her hands. Her eyes are opened wide and her voice is a whispered scream.

"What does it say? Oh, God! I hope it's not bad." Sonehso:wa unrolls the tiny piece of paper and glances up at Anika when he is finished reading it. He looks back down and reads the note out loud.

"P. textiles sold. P. estate sold. M. estate for sale. Aveline discov S.M. rebuilding abandoned fort in Cuba. Bring Albany brothers. New location." He reads a list of numbers at the bottom.

"They must have sent this hoping Ratonhnhake:ton would still be here."

"Why are they selling everything? What is Sergio doing?" Anika cries. She moves her hands from her face to over her stomach.

Sonehso:wa looks into the frightened eyes of his wife and breathes out once, sick at heart.

"I have to go after him. He needs to know this before he is beyond Albany."

"They've been gone for two days already! How can you possibly catch up now?"

"I will have to ride quickly." Anika is silent for a moment. She sighs at the ground and then looks up at her husband.

"I'm coming with you." Sonehso:wa frowns and shakes his head.

"No." They quarrel all the way back to the longhouse.

"She's my sister!" Anika stands behind Sonehso:wa where he leans over their sleeping area. He closes his eyes and clenches his teeth, pausing in the act of packing up his travel items. Their disagreement had come full circle.

"I can travel faster alone." After all that had happened just to get Anika to safety, now she wants to return to a place where her life will once again be in danger.

"But I'm sure I can convince her to stop in Albany. Maybe if she knows this is turning into something else… something much more dangerous, she'll see reason."

"Can she not just hear it from me?"

"You know how stubborn she is! She'll think you're just trying to protect her." Sonehso:wa turns to face Anika, letting his frustration come through in his voice at last.

"I am trying to protect her! I am trying to protect you but you do not want it!" Anika's face is stricken and her next words come from her in a rush of earnest conviction.

"I do want your protection. But I know her! Sonehso:wa, I know her." Sonehso:wa huffs and looks at his wife with a battle raging in his heart. She takes a step toward him and reaches her hand out for his arm.

"My husband…" The moment she touches him he knows he has lost. He squeezes his eyes shut and sighs with resignation.

"The trip will not be easy. It will not be like when we came here from the cabin or even when we left New York."

"I know. I'm prepared to do whatever it takes…"

"I hope you know what you are saying." Anika nods her head and grabs a few things from the shelf over her head. Only a short time later they leave the village at a gallop on the grey horse with the blessings of the three Clan mothers at their backs.

Sonehso:wa jogs beside the horse several times a day while they travel. He doesn't bother shooting any game, choosing instead to rely only on what they had brought from the village to eat on the move. Anika watches him quietly, doing her part by helping to set up their camp and break it down in the morning. They only rest for a few short hours at night.

In an effort to cut out a significant amount of travel time, Sonehso:wa decides to take advantage of a relatively shallow section of the river.

"We will cross to the other side here." Anika looks across the wide expanse of the river and its rushing depths with trepidation. The water crests over submerged rocks and froths on the other side, displaying its unrelenting and powerful force.

"I don't know how to swim!" she says quietly, trying not to reveal her panic.

"You do not have to. You are riding across." Sonehso:wa says as he takes off every last stitch of his clothing and ties it all to the back of the horse. Anika removes her moccasins and steadies her nerves on the back of the horse in preparation for the crossing. Sonehso:wa takes a strong length of leather strap and wraps it tightly around Anika's right wrist several times, knotting it in her palm so she can grip it. He then loops it through the bridle of the horse and ties it securely in place.

"If you fall in, just hold on and keep your head up. The horse knows what to do." Anika's eyes are enormous as she nods at her husband. When they are ready, Sonehso:wa leads the horse into the water. The grey is willing at first but shies when the water reaches his chest. Anika leans forward to clutch the horse's mane in her hands and lifts her feet up when the cold water splashes onto her legs. With some gentle tugging on the reins, Sonehso:wa convinces the horse to swim. The water is freezing cold and it soaks Anika's pants up to her hips and then along her stomach and chest but she clings tightly to the sides of the horse with her knees. The drag of the water is incredibly strong and soon only Sonehso:wa's head and hand holding the reins are visible above the surface of the rushing water as he swims slightly farther downstream than the horse. The grey pulls his head against the tension on the reins from Sonehso:wa's grasp and snorts sporadically when his nostrils are splashed by a larger wave.

They are just past the halfway point when the reins snap. The broken end of the reins slips through Sonehso:wa's grasp and he stops swimming against the current to reach his free arm around in an attempt to grab it but he just misses it. Anika screams and watches helplessly as he is carried downriver. She tries to disentangle her hand from the strap she had been tied to the horse with but the leather is saturated and her skin between the tightly wrapped lashing is blue with cold and restricted blood flow. Sonehso:wa is carried out of sight around a curve in the river and Anika screams his name until her voice fails her and the horse eventually struggles up the embankment of the other side.

Shivering and soaking wet, Anika slips off the grey's back where he stands with his head hanging down and his sides heaving from the effort of swimming. Her arm is held up slightly by the leather belt and she touches her forehead to the horse's knee as her tears merge with the water that drips from his coat and her clothes, splashing on the pebbly shore. With incredible effort, Anika lifts her head and looks around. She needs to get her arm free. Her fingers are swelling up and becoming painful. She pulls herself shakily to her feet and reaches her left hand to the bundle tied on the back of the horse to find Sonehso:wa's hunting knife. Pulling it from its sheath, she cuts the end of the strap where it is attached to the bridle. When her arm is no longer pinned to the neck of the horse, she is able to draw it close to her body and carefully work the point of the knife under the leather crossing her wrist. Despite her care, the sharp blade digs into her swollen flesh and her blood mingles with the water beading her skin. With a quick twist of her left hand, she cuts the strap and a surge of hot agony rushes down her arm as her blood flow is restored.

Anika finds her moccasins and starts to lead the horse by his broken reins, following the river downstream. Sonehso:wa had been swimming hard when she lost sight of him and she fervently prays with an aching heart that he made it ashore. As she walks she eagerly strains to see beyond the rocky bend of the river and scans the open, rushing rapids. All she sees is water, stones and driftwood. Convinced all she will find is a body, she stumbles onward, her tears blinding her and running in heated trails down her cold cheeks. She blames herself for making him take her along. He may not have considered such a risky crossing if he wasn't overly concerned about being slowed down by her. How selfish she was for forcing the matter! Now he's gone and she is alone in the wilderness. Remembering Gaiachoton's words to her about letting him win some arguments, Anika can only imagine how angry he will be with her if she can make it back to the village. It is because of her that his son is dead. The weight of her sorrow takes her to her knees and she leans on one hand. The small, round pebbles that make up the shore are smooth and warm beneath her hand and she clutches a handful tightly, watching as they darken where her tears spatter their multicolored surfaces. Her body shudders with her grief and the cold from her sodden clothing.

A shout carries to her on the wind and she lifts her head, climbing to her feet with a hand on the shoulder of the grey. The horse's ears are pointed forward and he seems just as interested in the call of his master. Anika tries to scream his name but her voice had long since been worn down to a hoarse whisper. She drops the reins of the horse and runs up to the grassy embankment where the early spring runoff has eroded the land. Grabbing handfuls of the long grass that hangs off the edge of it, she clambers up to the top for a better vantage point. Her knees nearly give out when she sees her husband, naked as the day he was born, shading his eyes and scanning the shore as he walks toward her. She tries again to call to him but her voice refuses to cooperate so she starts running along the edge of the eroded bank. When she gets closer he catches sight of her and changes direction to meet her. The bank breaks down under her weight when she gets too close to the edge and she slides gracelessly down in the sandy soil, coming to rest at the bottom covered in weeds and earth. She rolls to her knees and struggles to her feet just as Sonehso:wa reaches her.

He takes her in his arms, without regard for his nakedness or her filthiness. Anika clings to his shoulders, sobbing.

"Oh God, I thought you were lost to me forever! I'm sorry! Oh, my love, I'm so sorry!" Her words disintegrate into shaking cries and Sonehso:wa makes soothing noises against her head. The burning in Sonehso:wa's muscles is only just starting to fade from his fight to escape the pull of the river. All he could think of was Anika left alone to die in the woods and he used that, finding an incredible strength deep inside of him that had allowed him to drag himself from the charging rapids. While he holds her close and brushes some of the dirt from her hair, the horse plods over and joins them. Anika shivers in his arms.

"Come, take off these wet things." He tries to help her but she shakes her head and takes his hands in hers, turning them over in her grasp and running her hands up his arms. She scrutinizes his face, moving it this way and that way before turning him around and looking him over from behind. She moves his wet, tangled hair aside and touches a long, bleeding scratch on his flank lightly with her fingers. When she finally lets him face her she stands on her tiptoes and hugs him. Worry mars her pretty features.

"Do I pass your inspection?" he says with a smile, trying to lighten the mood in the aftermath of their traumatic separation.

"Only if you're unhurt!"

"Just a few scratches. I am unhurt." Some of her concern leaches away and her shoulders drop slightly.

"But you do not pass my inspection, wife. You are a dirty woman!" Anika looks down at herself and scoffs at Sonehso:wa's persistent humor. He takes her by the hand and brings her to the water's edge. Anika stiffens when they get closer.

"I'm not going in there!"

"Woman, if you do not take off those dirty, wet clothes you will not get warm." Anika drops his hand and strips out of her clothing until she is just as naked as her husband. Sonehso:wa submerges her tunic and pants in the water, letting the current wash the soil out and carry it away. Anika finally kneels beside him and takes her wet clothes from his hands. She unbraids her hair and washes the dirt from it and her body. Sonehso:wa goes to the horse and returns wearing his pants and carrying his shirt and one of their blankets. He drapes the blanket over Anika and vigorously rubs her until she is dry. Sonehso:wa's shirt is much too big for her but it is warm and the blanket covers her legs more than enough.

"We can camp here if you want to rest." Sonehso:wa's eyes are dark with his concern for Anika.

"No. We should keep moving." Anika feels sick to her stomach at her husband's willingness to slow for her sake but after what they had just been through she refuses to allow it. He looks hard into her eyes and finds her unyielding.

"We will ride until dusk… no longer." Anika nods and when Sonehso:wa has repaired the broken reins, he lifts her up and then gets on behind her, holding her tightly in his arms while they ride. He strikes out directly south east from the river's edge, cutting deep into the forest.

The trees are full with the bright, verdant flush of early summer. Even the undergrowth is vibrant and reflective of the leafy ceiling over their heads. Ferns are unfurling in the new warmth and the mossy cover is brightening into a soft carpet that creeps over stones and stumps alike. The horse's hooves are muffled where they fall on countless decades' worth of untouched, fallen leaves, making for a stark contrast of silence compared to the constant babble and torrent of the river. The peaceful play of light and shade among the trees and fallen branches is ethereal and soothing and when the sun begins to set, the rays of waning light send pale, golden beams reaching through the trees.

When Sonehso:wa and Anika camp that night in a small clearing, they make love with an urgent intensity. The events of the afternoon had profoundly affected them both and their unrestrained cries echo away in the darkness until they are lost in the perpetual rush of the river far behind them.

At night, Catherine falls asleep on her mat beside the fire almost the moment Connor's arm is around her body. As the long days of travel wear on she finds herself swaying on the chestnut's back, watching the moon rise with gritty eyelids and counting down every minute until they stop to camp. Connor's endurance seems limitless and more than once he has had to lift her off her horse when they stop so she doesn't fall to the ground when she dismounts. The mornings are worse, as her body protests every movement until she has walked around for a few minutes. Connor often jogs beside his horse for long stretches and in the beginning she had tried to walk beside her horse whenever he would eventually slow down but that ended after only a few days as her energy gradually waned.

By the time the first farm on the outskirts of Albany comes into sight Catherine has given up any hope of escaping the numb exhaustion that drags on her from sunup to sundown and beyond. Without regard for the many eyes staring at the Indian man and the white woman dressed as an Indian who pass them by, they press onward, reaching the larger towns that surround Albany after a rigorous six days of travel from the cabin at the gorge. The chestnut has developed an irregular gait and by the time they cross into the city's outer limits the next day, Connor has taken Catherine onto his horse with him and is leading the chestnut by the reins with only their belongings and all of his weapons, except for his bow and tomahawk, strapped to the animal's back. Catherine examines the injured leg when they stop for the night and it appears to be a strained muscle but in her exhausted state of mind she isn't sure.

It feels like a dream when, in the middle of the day, they stop at a white painted house in the city and Connor knocks on the door. A plump woman answers and, with a small squeal of delight, takes his hand and starts chattering about how wonderful it is that he has come for a visit. Only when he pats her wrist and turns to gesture at Catherine does the woman's attention shift from him. She bustles out and wrings her hands as Catherine stumbles when Connor helps her down from the bay horse and guides her to the older woman. Catherine perks up a little when she finds herself fussed over and caressed as she is led inside. Connor takes the horses around the corner and Catherine is swept into a comfortably furnished room and seated on a couch before an unlit fireplace. She tries to listen and respond to the woman's banter but she speaks so rapidly that it all runs together and she can manage only noncommittal responses. They seem to satisfy the woman, however, and when a bowl of hot, fragrant soup is presented to her a short time later, she eats it slowly, staring at the silver spoon in her hand with a disconnected fascination for the ornate design covering the handle. She hides her face in her elbow and yawns, embarrassed by her rudeness to her kind hostess.

"Oh, you poor dear, you're positively run down. I'm surprised at Connor for riding so hard with a lady by his side. Let me just help you get cleaned up and then I'll fix you up nice and comfortable so you can rest." After a quick bath and a change into a white cotton shift that looks vaguely familiar, Catherine drops off into a deep sleep on the couch.

Men's voices wake Catherine and she squints in the low rays of light slanting into the room from the windows. She must have slept for hours but her body still feels as if it is half dead. Rubbing her eyes, she sits up anyway. A little boy is sitting next to the couch playing with some wooden blocks. He looks up excitedly from his stacked tower when she moves the blanket down from her face.

"Caf-rinn!" He jumps to his feet, carelessly knocking his little tower over, and climbs up onto her so he can hug her. She is confused by the boy's excitement until he picks up one of her fraying braids and examines it, tugging on the string around the bottom as he talks.

"You know Nika! And Sosowa!" His brown eyes are wide when he looks up at her face from her braid.

"Yes… How did you know that?" she asks sleepily as the child almost leaps with excitement. A carved white bead that looks like something someone in the village would wear bounces against the child's chest where it hangs from a black ribbon necklace.

"Connor said!"

"Oh, he did?" She smiles and sits the rest of the way up, scooting back slowly so she can rest against the arm of the couch without tipping the boy off her lap.

The child nods enthusiastically as the sound of floorboards squeaking under approaching footsteps reaches them. Connor appears in the doorway and leans against the frame with one arm up over his head. Catherine takes in the sight of him with unconcealed shock, sitting up straighter on the couch. He is dressed in a long, white, hooded military jacket lined with royal blue, reminiscent of the Patriot militia men she had seen during the war. The hood hangs down behind his head and frames the sides of his neck. Brass buttons run up both sides of his chest over the blue accented edges where it attaches to a white waistcoat with a vee neckline just low enough to reveal his necklace. The shoulders are gusseted with more blue fabric to allow freedom of movement and the upper arms are embellished with small feathers and woven armbands which almost exactly resemble the ones on his winter coat. The two pointed tails of the jacket are visible behind Connor's legs and a red sash is tied around his waist and hangs down over his right thigh. Over the sash is the belt with the unique buckle he had shown her before at the cabin. He wears dark pants under his usual hide leg wraps and boots as well as the two bracers over a pair of fingerless gloves. Catherine has always known Connor is a bigger than average man but the clothing he is wearing now fit him incredibly well; the leather trimmed seams and details accentuate the wideness of his shoulders and the muscular build of his body. He is an imposing, militant figure even without a single visible weapon on him and the sight of him leaves her speechless. She gapes up at him until he speaks.

"Are you feeling better rested?"

"Yes. You look… like an officer."

"I am, in a way." Catherine nods and looks down at the child in her lap. He has started pulling the curl straight that extends beyond the string holding her braid and watching it spring back into place when he releases it. Connor speaks kindly to the boy.

"Ethan, go see your grandmother. I must speak with Catherine." The child drops Catherine's braid onto her stomach and clambers off her lap to scamper out of the room. Connor stands straighter and takes his elbow off the door frame. He closes the door behind him and moves toward the couch. Kneeling on the floor in front of Catherine, he takes her left hand and looks down at her fingers curled slightly in his. When he looks up at where she is waiting patiently for him to speak, there is a mote of real worry in his eyes. His features soften slightly and more of Ratonhnhake:ton shines through, though the tightness around his eyes and the crease between his eyebrows remain.

"There is a ship leaving in two hours for New York. I must be on it. Are you feeling well enough to come with me? If you are not, Bethany will take you and Ethan to New York on another ship that leaves tomorrow and you can find me on the Aquila when you arrive."

"I'll stay with you."

"Are you certain? I should not have pushed you so hard to get here. Mrs. Young was angry with me and I now see the wisdom in her words." Catherine gives him a tired smile as she nods and leans close to stroke his hair.

"Of course I'm certain." She slides her fingers down his braid and tucks it behind his ear before placing her hand on his shoulder and leaning in to kiss him softly. His fingers tighten on her hand and he rests his left hand on the couch beside her hip. When Catherine sits back from kissing Connor, she looks at his face. His eyes are still closed and he suddenly appears incredibly tired and careworn. A few hairs of his left eyebrow are separated from the others so she runs the fingers of her right hand along it to smooth them together. At her touch, he opens his eyes.

"What did Mrs. Young say to you?" Catherine asks him softly.

"She said… what was necessary." Connor's neat avoidance of her question and the boyish embarrassment that briefly crosses his face make Catherine look to the side with a smile. A corset, petticoats and dress are draped over a nearby chair next to the washbasin and Catherine vaguely remembers Bethany telling her that they are for her to wear.

"I'll get ready now."

"You never fail to impress me, woman." Connor says with a quirk to his mouth. Catherine attempts to rile his elusive sense of humor a little.

"Woman!" she huffs.

"I'm your WildCat, Connor." A stab of sadness arcs through Connor when she uses his Assassin name though he knows she will have to while they are not at the village. A small sigh escapes him before he can stop it.

"You are right to use that name in public but when we are alone… let me be myself." Catherine watches the play of subtle emotions changing quickly in Connor's eyes and the brief constriction of his features that she might have missed if she hadn't been looking at him so closely.

"Of course." Catherine whispers to him, once again softly stroking his eyebrow with her thumb. Connor turns his head and kisses her hand before standing up and crossing to the door. He opens it and pauses, turning his upper body slightly.

"We will not be taking the horses with us on the ship. Your horse will recover with rest. He has earned it." Catherine nods at him and he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Her heart aches for him and the endless depths of his shadowy, emotional torment that clutch at her, searching for something bright to hold onto. She questions whether she is capable of being what he needs when she can barely keep up with him.

While Catherine is putting the corset on, Bethany softly knocks and then comes in.

"Oh, my dear you're looking better! Connor said you want to go with him tonight so I'll help you get ready."

"Thank you, Mrs. Young. Please accept my apologies for being so…" her thoughts escape her but Bethany finishes her sentence.

"Tired? Don't you worry about that. I've already scolded Connor for being so ungentlemanly. He's like a silly boy and sometimes a whack or two with a wooden spoon does a world of good!" Catherine smiles. Bethany must be immune to Connor's daunting presence if she's calling him a child and hitting him with spoons. Before Catherine can comment on Connor's punishment, Bethany changes the subject.

"Connor tells me Anika and Sonehso:wa got married! I'm so very happy for them. I knew it was love the moment I saw them look at each other. I understand you and Anika are very close friends." Bethany leans to the side to smile at Catherine as she tightens the laces of the corset.

"We are. And they're so very happy together."

"That's wonderful! Hmm. You're very thin, dear. I'm afraid I can't tie this any tighter. Has Connor been forgetting to feed you, too?" Relief sweeps over Catherine at her remark for she had been dreading wearing an overly constrictive corset once more. This one only slightly limits her breathing yet it already feels cruelly tight.

"Of course not! I'm just… like this." Catherine's face contorts. How can she possibly tell this woman that she practices shooting arrows and runs around in the woods throwing Connor's tomahawk at targets? Or that she had originally gotten so thin because of being maliciously starved for three weeks over the winter? Her morning sickness and depression had not helped her recovery, either. Catherine looks down at her bony wrists and small breasts, flattened further by the corset. Not for the first time, she wishes she had been blessed with the figure Anika has. Frowning, she remembers the derogatory remarks her captors had made when they had first exposed her small breasts to their sight. She shakes her head, dispelling the painful memory. Bethany sighs as she finishes tying the laces.

"Well good. I was going to have to give that young man a brisk beating he would never forget if he were to be that remiss. Sometimes he's so overly focused on his work he forgets that the sun still rises and sets every day." This time Catherine does laugh.

"You know him well!" Her words are muffled as she pulls the coal grey petticoat on over her head.

"Of course! I've known him for years!" Bethany helps Catherine put on the overdress and turns her around to button the double row of black buttons up the front of the pointed bodice and tie the ribbons that hold the sleeves tight to her elbows. She fluffs out the layers of long, white lace that extend from the ends of the sleeves over her forearms and smoothes the silvery brocade fabric so it hangs without a single wrinkle. A filmy piece of gauze goes on next, looping loosely around her shoulders and tucking neatly into the front of her bodice, covering her exposed neckline modestly and giving the illusion of more underneath. When Bethany sits Catherine down in a chair to unbraid her hair, Catherine lifts part of her skirts to examine it.

"This fabric is lovely. Is it imported?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"I recognize the weave. It's French."

"You have quite the eye for textiles."

"It was my father's business. It's all I know."

"My daughter Sarah loved nice things. She was very selective about her clothing. She only had a new dress made when she was sure she and her husband could afford the cost of the materials and she took meticulous care of every one so it would last. Sometimes she would just buy the fabric and save it for when she could have it made into something." Bethany busily pins Catherine's hair up, smoothing her curls into ringlets by dipping her fingers into a little water from the nearby ewer and twirling sections of it.

"That green dress Anika has… was it your daughter's as well?"

"Yes. I just had to give it to her. It matched her eyes and made her look like an angel. Oh, Anika really is an angel to us! She looks just like our Sarah and she helped Ethan to talk again. Mr. Young had such a hard time when she left. He hasn't been the same since we lost our daughter and it was as if he had gotten her back for just a minute. If he knew where Connor's village is he would probably try to go there someday just to see her again." Bethany twirls the last two sections of Catherine's hair and lets the long curls spiral over her right shoulder. She lifts a hat with two large, white feathers draping over the top of it from the sideboard and places it lightly on Catherine's head, positioning it so it doesn't crush the curls and pinning it into place by skewering it with a large hatpin before letting her hands come to rest on the back of the chair.

"There. Now you're looking like a proper lady! Shall I take these other garments and dispose of them?"

"No! Please, let me keep them."

"Alright, but don't go wearing them about New York…" Catherine laughs at Bethany's shocked expression.

"I won't."

"Let's see if any of Sarah's boots fit your feet." Luckily, one pair that seems a little more worn fits less uncomfortably than the others.

Connor jumps to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over with his spastic movement, and looks Catherine over with wide eyes when she emerges from the sitting room. She is stunningly elegant in the dress Bethany had clothed her in and the way she stands with her hands clasped demurely in front of her makes her appear tiny and afraid. He prefers her in the clothes he is used to her wearing so seeing her like this is a jolt to his senses. It reminds him that she is originally a woman of New York, a world he still feels separated from in so many ways. Catherine smiles shyly at him and lowers her face, hiding it behind the narrow brim of her hat and the fullness of her curls. How can clothing and a hairstyle transform her into such a fragile and vulnerable creature? Bethany bustles past him, too intent on something to notice his concern. She returns with an extensive length of deep maroon fabric and ties it around Catherine's waist, letting the long ends dangle down the back of her skirt.

"There! Isn't she lovely?" she breathes.

Connor does think she is lovely but her waist is unnaturally small and the belt calls attention to it. He fears that if he touches her he might break her. It isn't the Catherine he knows, not his WildCat at all, standing before him. The light in her eyes is the same yet everything else about her is abnormally pristine and untouchable. He has no time to linger on his concerns. Catherine advances toward him and dips in a graceful curtsy in front of him. The pale grey of her dress makes her eyes appear bluer than usual when they find his. Some of Connor's awkwardness slips away under the effect of her smile. Bethany speaks up with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows dangerously close together as she stares at Connor.

"Aren't you going to give her your arm? A lady needs a gentleman to escort her to the docks in this rough town…" Isaac's laugh comes from the corner of the kitchen and he approaches the uncomfortable scene. He slaps Connor on the shoulder and laughs some more. He addresses Catherine.

"You best not smile too much at this one. He's a little shy around the ladies. We haven't met. I'm Isaac Young. I hate to cut the merriment short but the hour is getting late. We need to get you on that ship."

"I'm most pleased to meet you, Mr. Young. Thank you both for your generosity. I wish I had been better company."

"Nonsense, nonsense! It was a pleasure. We only wish you could have stayed longer. Maybe next time…" Bethany gives Connor a pointed look from the corner of her eyes.

"… Connor will stay for a few days." Isaac rubs his beard to conceal a smile at his wife's indignant words.

"Come along, then, I'll walk with you to the dock." Isaac moves past them with a grin on his face while Bethany crosses her arms and scowls at Connor. When he continues to stand still she sighs.

"Go on then, give the girl your arm! My goodness, what a rogue you are today!" Connor quickly steps close to Catherine and raises his elbow out toward her. Catherine laughs and takes it lightly in her hands, similarly to the time she had walked with him through the village not so long ago. On their way out the door, Connor stops and Catherine lets go of him so he can put on his weapon belt, bow and quiver. He picks up a large bag containing their other clothes and supplies and slings it on his shoulder. Catherine's bow and quiver protrude from the top of the bag.

"I suppose it wouldn't do for me to carry those dressed as I am." She gestures to her weapon and then down at her new clothing with a rueful smile.

"It would draw attention." Connor agrees. He turns to glance over his shoulder at Bethany before looking down at Catherine with a crooked smile on his face. He pulls his hood up, reaches one arm behind his back and bows, extending his other hand out towards her. Catherine laughs with delight and curtseys to him, playing along with the game.

"Oh, kind sir, I would be honored!" She places a hand over her chest and appears greatly flattered. When Connor gives her his elbow and she takes it, he looks over his shoulder once more at Bethany. She is smiling at him and shaking her head.

The walk to the pier isn't long and very soon they are approaching the narrow walkway that sways over the gap between the massive ship and the dock where it hangs suspended on ropes as thick as Catherine's wrists. Isaac stops with them at a booth where Connor purchases passage for two to New York and then bids them a hasty farewell as a bell is rung to indicate that the ship is leaving. Shortly after they are on board, the walkway is untied and thrown back to the workers on the dock. The crew on the ship shout back and forth to each other as they scramble about like ants over the deck and up in the rigging. The loud clanking of a chain can be heard and felt beneath their feet along with the muffled song that keeps the rhythm of the men hauling in the anchor below.

As the ship slowly moves into the flow of the river the deck sways beneath their feet and Catherine tightens her hand on Connor's elbow. He glances down at her but he cannot see her face, for it is turned slightly away from his view. If he didn't know it was Catherine, he could easily imagine that he has the hand of a stranger on his arm. A tiny, faint scar on the back of her wrist from her mistreatment reassures him that this is indeed the woman he cares deeply for. He touches the scar with a finger of his free hand and she raises her head up to look at him. She tilts her face and her smile falters.

"It's really happening, isn't it?" she asks him with a quiet voice. The feathers in her hat shift in the breeze.

"What is?"

"I'm going back to New York. At last! I wanted it so badly in the beginning but now… I'm dreading it." she shakes her head and continues in a soft voice.

"It has nothing for me now. All of this… it's no longer who I am." she adds, looking down at her clothing.

"New York may yet have something for you." Catherine shakes her head again at him, unable to see his implication. Connor turns to face her and she folds her hands at her waist as he leans against the railing with his hand resting on the top edge. The wind ruffles the sides of his hood next to his face as the city of Albany slips away behind them into the purple, gathering dark. Lanterns sway from their posts around the ship and cast shifting shadows and yellow light over the deck, railings and choppy surface of the river below.

"It has the key to your freedom... and maybe you can find peace for your spirit. If we stop whatever Sergio is planning, we will put an end to his scheming that resulted in your harm. Maybe you can get back some of your father's legacy he has taken from you." Catherine looks out over the railing and watches the darkness of the far bank, punctuated by twinkling lights from a farmhouse in the distance.

"I don't want anything from him, even if there is anything left. I just want him to be prevented from harming anyone else… for it to truly be over."

"It will be. I will make certain of it. If we can find out who he answers to we may be able to cut out another Templar leader from this land. That can only mean good things for the people here. If Sergio is trying to support slavery, we can stop that too. I believe the appropriate saying of your people is, 'kill two birds with one stone.'" Catherine shivers in the chilly night breeze, made colder by the ship's speed on the river. She wraps her arms around herself and looks up at Connor. There is anger behind his eyes and it troubles her. He views this mission as more than just an Assassin priority. He has a personal interest in finding Francisco and Sergio. What if he lets that interfere with why he is really there?

"I'm not asking you to kill for me. You've already done that. I only want justice, not bloodshed." Connor's expression changes slightly, as if she had startled him.

"In most situations the only way to end the problem is to end the life of the one instigating it." His voice is composed but his eyes are agitated.

"But if you can just take away their means of carrying out their plans, that would stop them. You don't have to kill anyone." Connor exhales out into the night, remembering the time when he thought he had successfully prevented the war by throwing crates of tea into the ocean. He had been terribly mistaken and the years he had spent embroiled in the war he hoped to prevent had changed him forever.

"I have learned the hard way that that is not always the case." His words are cut with an edge of bitterness to them.

"Look at the lengths he has gone to just to acquire what he has from you. Abduction... Murder. Do you think he would not search for yet another if we let him live?" Catherine has to look away from him in frustration. His logic is irrefutable.

"Then spare Francisco. Despite it all… I still don't believe he's as corrupt as his father."

"I do not share your opinion of him."

"I know you don't. That's why I'm asking you not to kill him." Connor has to wrangle with his frustration. How can she ask him not to kill the man who treated her like a worthless object? His anger seethes inside of him and he forces it down to a burning ember. Catherine is not asking him to spare him because she cares for him. Her request is simply an expression of her concern for life. That facet of her personality is one of the things that draws him to her. It reminds him of how he used to be and he views it not as a flaw, but as an advantage. If she were to lose that part of her she would no longer be the warm-hearted woman he loves. Because of that, he respects it and he nods his head once in assent to her wishes. The look of relief on her face only slightly assuages his resentment that he has just voluntarily relinquished the only truly satisfying result of any possible encounter with Francisco. Catherine shivers and Connor takes a step closer to her, reaches his arm to her shoulder and draws her close in a warming hug.

"This will all end some day soon, WildCat, and you will be free of them forever."

"How can you face such uncertain odds with so much confidence?"

"Because I am not gambling." Once again giving her his arm, he guides her towards the stairs leading into the belly of the ship.

Bethany pauses in her weeding of the garden to rub her aching back. Ethan is covered in dirt and she has given up chastising the child for his messiness for the time being. He sits on a newly turned pile of earth and is galloping a wooden horse along his leg and up onto the side of the house. The final few weeds come up easily and Bethany tosses them into her basket.

"Ethan, come help your Nana up." Bethany dusts her hands on her apron and when she looks up, Ethan is no longer sitting on his dirt pile. The wooden horse is lying on its side, discarded.

"Ethan?" Bethany's heart constricts and she climbs to her feet. Ethan's bare footprints are scattered throughout the garden but there is no sign of the boy. His shrieking laugh comes from behind her and she spins, only to see a vision from a dream. Sonehso:wa is lifting the boy up onto his grey horse and Anika is reaching her arms around him and hugging him. Bethany blinks and looks again. The scene is unchanged except now they are closer and Ethan is calling to her.

"Nana! Nana! Look!" He is so excited he can't even articulate their names. At last, Bethany is able to regain her voice and she hurries over to them.

"Oh, my dears! What a surprise! Connor didn't say you were coming!"

"He did not know." Sonehso:wa speaks quietly but Anika's voice is full of hope.

"Is he still here?" Bethany shakes her head.

"No, he left with Catherine a day and a half ago for New York." Anika and Sonehso:wa exchange an anxious, defeated look. Bethany tilts her head, her eyebrows coming together with concern.

"Has something happened?" she asks.

"We had hoped we could make it here in time. There was a note on a bird that came after they left the village. The other men… the Assassins… from this place are needed in New York." Bethany's demeanor immediately changes to one of grave severity.

"Anika, dear, come inside with Ethan. Sonehso:wa, go to the store and get Mr. Young. We don't have a moment to lose." Anika hands Ethan down to Bethany while Sonehso:wa unties their things from the back of the horse. Once Anika is on the ground she takes them so Sonehso:wa can jump on the horse and ride toward the store.

Sonehso:wa urges the horse into a trot. He doesn't want to risk causing a scene but the tone of Bethany's voice had only added to his concerns. With Connor already gone he earnestly hopes Isaac will know what to do. At the general store, there are customers inside, both at the counter and browsing the shelves. Sonehso:wa's aggravation boils beneath the surface of an otherwise calm exterior as he dismounts and ties his horse to one of the posts outside. With a shout building inside him, he moves into the store and waits in the queue leading up to the counter. When he is two customers away, Isaac notices him. The man cocks his head to the side and then regains his composure to deal with his next customer. That customer concludes his business quickly but the second one wants to chat. Sonehso:wa grinds his teeth and counts the items hanging from the walls in an attempt to still his anxiety. At last, Isaac manages to move the talkative customer on and Sonehso:wa steps up to the counter. He places his hand down and slides the note across to Isaac. The men exchange a quick look before Isaac smiles at the other customers.

"I just need to get a special order item for this fine gentleman. I'll be back in a moment." He disappears into the back and shuts the door. Sonehso:wa paces along the length of the counter and examines a musket mounted to the wall while Isaac is gone. When the door to the back room opens, Isaac emerges carrying a wooden crate, its contents covered by an empty grain sack. He meets Sonehso:wa back at the counter and hefts the box onto it in front of him.

"Here you are, sir. And according to my records, you paid in advance. So you can take this, right away, for your needs." He keeps his hand on top of the sack and emphasizes the pressing nature of his suggestion with a nod to Sonehso:wa.

"Thank you." Sonehso:wa takes the crate and it is indeed heavy. Outside, he lifts the corner of the sack only to discover boxes of ammunition stacked to the very edge and a sheet of paper with a hastily scrawled note on top. The original note is there as well.

'These are the people we need. My wife knows how to find them. Prepare to leave as soon as we are gathered.'

Sonehso:wa unloops the reins of his horse from the post. He drapes them over his shoulder and carries the box on foot back to the Young's house with the horse dutifully following him. Bethany opens the door for him; evidently she had been watching for his return. Anika pokes her head out of the sitting room. She has already changed into her dress and her hair is once again braided into the tight bun she wore the last time they were in the city. The heavy box thumps onto the floor where Sonehso:wa places it and he lifts the sack from the top of it to reveal the boxes of ammunition and the note from Isaac to Bethany. She takes the note, scans it and looks up at Sonehso:wa.

"Will you come with me to find these men?" Sonehso:wa nods and Bethany turns to Anika where she is standing in the hall watching them silently.

"Anika, stay here with Ethan and only open the door if Isaac or Sonehso:wa and I return. I will tell the men, Joseph, Peter and Owen, to wait outside until we come back."

"Yes, Mrs. Young." Anika smiles nervously at Sonehso:wa and he starts to reach to her arm but hesitates, glancing over at Bethany.

"Oh, kiss your wife! I'll be outside." She laughs and leaves them alone. As soon as the door is shut, Anika steps into Sonehso:wa's arms and they kiss quickly.

"Be careful." Anika whispers.

"I never take risks." Sonehso:wa says with a smile.

"Liar!" Anika laughs and she kisses him again.

"Now go. Hurry!" Sonehso:wa turns from her and Anika smacks his bottom. He looks over his shoulder at her with a raised eyebrow that speaks of retaliation that will have to be meted out later. The door closes behind him and Anika jumps when Ethan's voice comes from just behind her.

"Why did you spank Sosowa? Was he being bad?" Anika gasps and her face flushes red.

"Ah…Yes, he was a naughty man."

"What did he do?"

"He spoke an untruth. Now let's get you cleaned up. You're a mess."

Sonehso:wa helps Bethany saddle the chestnut horse Catherine had ridden from the village and Sonehso:wa swaps the grey for Connor's horse to let him rest. It doesn't take long to find the men Isaac had listed. The first, Peter Gansevoort, runs a brewery near the north side of the city and they head there first. He had had a rather prominent role during the war but had taken to farming and brewing beer afterwards. They find him at the brewery running numbers with a banker.

"Mrs. Young! May I interest you and your acquaintance in a pint?"

"Oh, no, Mr Gansevoort. But I do have a matter I would like to discuss." Her expression leaves no doubt that the accountant is not needed for their discussion. He takes his leave.

"Connor needs your help."

"I'm at his service. What do I need to do?"

"Pack your things. You're leaving on a ship tonight and sailing out of New York."

"How long will we be gone?"

"I don't know."

"Well, no one ever said this life would be predictable. Where do we meet?"

"Mr. Young's house. As soon as you can."

"I'll inform my wife and pack my things."

"If she needs anything while you're gone I'll be here."

"Thank you, Mrs. Young."

The next stop is at a small blacksmith's shop back towards the center of town. Sonehso:wa expects Joseph Fulton to be an experienced, older man but Bethany leads the chestnut over to a young man of about seventeen with muscular shoulders, floppy blond hair and bright blue eyes.

"You must be Joseph." She says with a smile.

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?" he says, doffing his cap, which is just as floppy and soot stained as his hair.

"My horse has a limp. Can you take a look at his hoof?" The young man examines the hoof in question.

"Ma'am."

"Mrs. Young."

"Mrs. Young…" he gives her a squinting, sideways look and Bethany nods her head. His voice rings out loudly when he continues.

"This horse's hoof is healthy. It's his leg. He's got a sore muscle. Has he been on a long trip?"

"He has." She tilts her head and leads the horse outside.

"His shoes are a bit worn. I can replace them but what he really needs is a rest." When they are a ways from the other workers he lowers his voice.

"You're not really here for the horse, are you?" Bethany smiles.

"You're an astute young man. You are needed in New York. Connor's business. Can you get away from your work?"

"Just watch me…" He takes Bethany in a sudden hug.

"Oh! No! It can't be!" he cries into her shoulder. An older man approaches from the forge.

"What is it Jospeh?"

"My aunt… she's unwell. I must go to her in New York! I'm her only relative." Bethany pats his back and makes comforting noises at him.

"Of course, son. We'll manage without you." Sonehso:wa stands a short distance away watching the scene with amusement. His act would have satisfied the pickiest of spectators, he is sure.

"My husband will go with you to her, Joseph…" Bethany says softly.

"Thank you, oh, thank you!" he sobs.

On their way to the final location, they pass by Isaac's general goods store. The sign is turned to "Closed" and the door is locked. Bethany leads them farther up the hill towards the tavern Sonehso:wa had been in with Isaac and she stops just outside it.

"Maybe it would be best if you go in to talk to Owen. I don't like taverns and he is a rather imposing man. Mr. Young gets on just fine with him but I never know what to say to him."

"What does he look like?"

"Well, he's quite a large man and he takes care of any trouble makers who come in the tavern looking for a fight." Realization dawns on Sonehso:wa at her description. He would have gotten himself a beating from the very same man if Isaac hadn't waved him off.

"I will find him." Sonehso:wa hands his reins to Bethany and enters the tavern. He doesn't need to look for Owen at all. Isaac is standing with him at the counter and they both acknowledge Sonehso:wa by walking towards him.

"Sonehso:wa, I was just telling Big Owen about you. He'll be joining us on our little jaunt with Connor."

"A pleasure to meet you. If I'd known you were a friend of Connor's I wouldn't have concerned myself about you when you were last here." The man is surprisingly soft spoken. It seems his menacing appearance is all he needs for his job. The three of them walk out of the tavern together.

By the time they return to the house, the two other men are there with their travel bags. Owen joins them just a short time later with his things and an assurance that his brother will fill in for him at the tavern while he is gone. Bethany makes introductions to Anika while Isaac packs a bag. The ammunition is quickly distributed among all of their bags and they are ready to go. Ethan appears at Anika's side and she picks him up to give him a kiss. His curls are still wet from his earlier bath.

"Why are you leaving?" he cries.

"We have to help Connor." Isaac answers for her.

"Come, give Pappy a kiss, too, even though I'm not nearly as pretty." He takes the boy from Anika and points to his bearded cheek. Ethan gives him a kiss and then Isaac puts him down.

"You have to be a man now. Protect Nana but do what she says. Alright? She has to mind the store while I'm gone so be a good boy and help her." Ethan nods solemnly and takes Bethany's hand when she holds it out. They all move outside and Bethany stands in the doorway to wave to them.

"Be safe, Mr. Young. You'd better come back to me in one piece. You're not a man of twenty and one anymore. Keep an eye on Anika and Catherine." Peter and Owen share a laugh at Isaac's expense, slapping him on his back and calling him Old Pappy. He tips his hat at his wife and she gives him a sweet smile that speaks of their many happy years together and her understanding of his dangerous yet important role to the Brotherhood.

The river ship docks in the large, open harbor of New York, just a short way outside of the mouth of the river it had come from. Connor and Catherine exit with the other passengers and make their way through the milling crowds along the piers, dodging porters and workers. Catherine keeps her head down and her eyes focused on the folded up corners at the bottom of Connor's jacket. Now that they have arrived in the city she is terrified that she will be recognized. Connor leads her toward a long pier and when he stops near it she almost bumps into him.

"There she is. I knew Faulkner would get here before us." Connor points out into the harbor at a dark blue ship with white trim and two levels of white painted stripes with gunports. It is a two masted vessel and it is anchored somewhat farther out from most of the other ships in the harbor. Each mast appears to bear two furled sails each, with two additional sails tied up in the front. As it sits in the harbor, it has none of its sails open so the ship appears skeletal in the bright light of midday. Connor turns to Catherine.

"How do you feel about rounding up some bored sailors?"

"I've... never done that before…"

"Come with me." Connor leads her between stacks of crates and barrels along the wharf and down a main thoroughfare. Catherine swears she will be recognized now. Before she can worry further Connor opens the door to a rowdy tavern. He looks around at the varied collection of rough looking sailors and crewmen, half of whom are clearly beyond drunk. Catherine shrinks against Connor's back, reaching her hands to his belt as if to hold on to him so she won't get snatched away as a few whistles and bawdy calls come her way. She shies against him when a particularly toothless and hairy man leans back in his chair for a better view. Connor reaches over and shoves him forward again, not breaking his stride as he wades further into the establishment and heads straight for a table near the back full of somewhat sober looking men. There are nine of them and they are laughing into their cups, shouting and slapping their hands on the table while two men play an intense game of Nine Men's Morris.

"I see you are all keeping out of trouble while I am away." The men jump out of their seats and there is a collective babble of

"Captain!" and

"Aye, Captain!" from the men. Only one older man stays seated and it is from him that a deep and hearty laugh rolls across the table and almost drowns out the noise of the other customers in the tavern. His hair and beard are grey and his skin is tanned and craggy. He has the look of a man who has been on a ship most of his life.

"Aye, boy! You never were one to announce yerself, were you?" he tips his mug and finishes his ale in one long swig.

"And what's this? A lady? What possessed you to bring a woman into a place like this? Look at her, she's terrified!"

"No harm will come to her."

"Not with you around, I suppose." The man stands and rounds the table toward Connor and Catherine. Catherine still clings to his belt with both hands. The weathered sailor extends a hand toward her and bows with a flourish of his leg.

"My lovely lady! The name's Robert Faulkner, but you can just call me Faulkner. It's what the rest of these boys call me, including yer brute of a bodyguard, here." He jabs a thumb in Connor's direction with a snort.

"I'm the Captain's first mate on the Aquila, if you care to know." Catherine hesitantly gives him her hand and he lays a kiss on the back of it, his gracious act drawing rather ungracious snickering and mumbled remarks from the rest of the crew present. Gathering her wits in defiance of the uncomfortable situation, Catherine releases Connor's belt from her grasp and lifts the side of her skirt in a minute curtsey.

"I'm most pleased to meet you, Faulkner." She moves her gaze to the other men and looks each of them in the eyes.

"As well as all of you fine gentlemen." The men wearing hats take them off and murmur barely distinguishable greetings.

"Where is everyone else?" Connor asks, either ignoring or oblivious to the strained interactions of his sailing crew with Catherine. Faulkner clears his throat and tugs lightly on Catherine's hand until she steps out from behind Connor more.

"And are you going to introduce us to yer lady friend?"

"This is Catherine Martinez. Formerly Parry." Faulkner raises his free hand in the air in a gesture of understanding.

"Ah! So that's why yer draggin' her about the rough parts of town. Don't want any of the high society catchin' a peep and recognizin' her, do ya? Even more pleased to meet you, then. There's quite a few of Connor's brothers all hopin' to get a stab at the ol' father in law you got there." The men snicker at his rotten pun before he sends a glare across the table at them.

"He's quite the piece of work, ain't he? His son ain't too nice, either, though he looks like a fop. Uh, no offence meant to your choice in men, love..." Catherine looks at the floor.

"No offense taken, sir." She says softly, though a strange feeling of shame has overtaken her with so many seeming to know the evil deeds of her family, in laws or not. Faulkner breaks the spell by waving over one of the sailors.

"Barry, go up to the Fife and Flagon and see if you can't drag those bastards… pardon me, love, those ill-bred men and she-dog out of it. Tell them our good Captain will be waiting for them at the docks." The young man seems eager to please, and he deftly makes his way out of the tavern.

"Come on, then, ya lubs! We got work to do!" Faulkner raises his voice at the remaining crew members and then guides Catherine in front of him so he his holding her right hand in his and his left hand is resting lightly on her waist. Connor raises an eyebrow at Faulkner disapprovingly but because of Catherine's position, she can't see the older man's face. Only his voice tells her of the strange father-son power play between them.

"At least give the lady a proper escort through this place." Connor stiffly turns his back and starts to walk towards the door. A particularly drunken sailor staggers toward Catherine mumbling something about dancing with her and one of the crewmen behind Faulkner steps forward and punches him, sending him reeling to the side and into a group of men. One of the men spills his ale and, with a roar, charges toward the sailor who sent the first man sprawling. With an eruption of shouts and cheering, several other men rise from their seats and engage the crewmen of the Aquila in an enormous fistfight.

"Move along, love, we're almost out the door." Faulkner says into Catherine's ear as he gives her an encouraging push on her hip with his hand and Connor bodily throws a man aside onto a nearby table who raises his fists in a laughable attempt to fight him. The three of them emerge into the bright light outdoors, accompanied by riotous shouting and the sounds of breaking furniture and brawling. Catherine is horrified. She had heard stories of bar fights and tavern brawls but had never witnessed one before. She looks up at Connor with some concern from where she stands with Faulkner.

"They'll be killed in there!" Connor glances over at Catherine and then down at Faulkner's hand resting possessively on her waist, a frown of displeasure shading his features.

"They can handle themselves in a fight." His voice remains calm but he steps forward and pushes Faulkner backwards with a hand on his shoulder so he can bring an arm around Catherine. He then turns her with him when he faces the door once more, putting his body between Catherine and Faulkner. Nothing but a muffled, wheezy chuckle comes from Faulkner.

Before long, the crewmen start to trickle from the tavern. Most of them have reddened bruises on their faces or bloody noses but for the most part they appear unharmed.

"Oy! I missed a fight?" Barry shouts from up the street, punching his fist into his opened palm. Behind him are six other men and one woman dressed as a man.

"And a right good one, it looks like!" One of the other men accompanying him calls out with a strong French accent. When the entire group is assembled, Connor makes introductions.

"This is Catherine Martinez. She is both our best resource for information regarding the mission and also a victim of our target's unscrupulous actions."

"These are my brothers from Boston." He gestures to each man in turn as he says their names.

"Stephane Chapheau," the man with the French accent nods to her.

"Clipper Wilkinson, Duncan Little," the two men both smile at her and Clipper takes her hand and kisses it. The moment he catches Connor's eye he drops her hand rather quickly.

"And my brothers… and sister from New York, Dobby Carter, Jamie Colley and Jacob Zenger, who you know." After witnessing Connor's reaction to Clipper, Jamie merely nods as Stephane had and Dobby looks her over with her arms crossed under her somewhat overly exposed breasts.

"Charmed…" she mutters. Jacob, however, approaches Catherine and rests his hand on her shoulder.

"It's good to see you are well, Catherine. My wife sends her greetings."

"Thank you, Mr. Zenger. And thank you for the part you played in helping Anika."

"Of course, my dear." Dobby snorts from where she is standing and uncrosses her arms, raising her hands up into the air in a frustrated motion.

"Don't we have a mission to do? Let's get this over with, shall we?" Duncan elbows her and she turns her head and looks him up and down with an irritated expression on her face.

"What?" She turns an acidic glare on Connor and stalks off toward the docks. Jacob smiles at Catherine and tilts his head slightly with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Don't mind her. She's always been a little rough around the edges. It comes with being among men all the time." Stephane leans in close to Jacob and whispers loudly enough to be heard by all.

"And with being replaced by a younger woman." Connor rounds on him at his comment and Stephane raises his hands up with his palms facing out.

"It was a joke, Connor."

"I did not find it funny."

"Hey, Stephane, you get to bunk closest to Dobby for that one. She likes to throw things when she's in a foul mood!" Clipper calls over. Connor lets the group's laughter go, choosing to turn towards the wharf and lead the way toward the harbormaster's booth. Faulkner negotiates for several dinghies to ferry the men over to the Aquila. Dobby is leaning against a piling near the end of the dock, staring out toward the ship when they all collect together to wait. Jamie approaches Connor.

"Where are the others?"

"Others?"

"The brothers from Albany…" he prompts. Connor shakes his head.

"I did not bring them."

"Did you get the message?"

"That is why I came."

"The second message…"

"I only received one."

"Well, that explains it. We'll just have to make do with who we have. Things have changed. I'll explain when we are on the ship."

"Very well." Connor nods, a flash of irritation showing in his eyes.

Catherine studies the woman who spent several months as Connor's lover almost two years ago. He had not kept Dobby a secret from her and Catherine is well aware of the sensitive nature of their working relationship. Though she appears to be in her late forties, she is fit and maturely attractive, if a bit aggressively so. She is clearly proud of her role as an Assassin yet she flaunts her femininity by wearing her shirt unbuttoned just a bit too low to be an accident. It is almost as if she wants a man to challenge her just so she can best him in a fight. Catherine doesn't doubt that it happens often and she always wins. She can understand how it would have been difficult for Connor to resist her if she made her intentions clear and persisted in pursuing him the way she had. She is also making it abundantly obvious that she is unhappy about the idea of Connor being interested in another woman, especially one who is not an equal or better version of herself. She has already judged Catherine to be not worth her time and so she doesn't even give her a second glance when they are all jumbled together on the pier.

The dinghies are paddled over and, in groups of five, they board them. Catherine, Connor, Faulkner, Jacob and Dobby end up together in one, much to Dobby's extreme displeasure. She rolls her eyes and turns her back when Faulkner helps Catherine into the boat. There is little conversation during the trip over the water toward the ship. Connor quietly points out the gun ports and tells Catherine of the various capabilities of the Aquila. Dobby continues to make it clear she would almost rather swim than be in such close company with Catherine.

The Aquila looms over them, its large size becoming more and more apparent the closer they get to it. The skeleton crew on board hail the arriving boats and throw a ladder off the side of the railing. Dobby stands up in the dinghy and makes a risky leap from the boat to the ladder, but not before looking Catherine right in the eyes.

"Age before beauty, Princess." Her words sting but Connor's hand tightens on Catherine's waist as the small boat rocks violently from the force of Dobby's jump. The men on the oars steady the boat and maneuver it closer to the ladder. Dobby climbs steadily up the ladder and waves away any assistance from the sailors at the top with a sharp word or two that leaves them backing away from her until she is out of sight. Connor goes up next and Faulkner shouts up towards the railing of the Aquila.

"Captain on the ship!" The announcement is repeated up above from someone out of sight. Faulkner steadies Catherine when it is her turn to reach for the ladder. Her skirts are blowing in the wind and she can't see where to put her feet. With a look over her shoulders at the other boats waiting to unload onto the ship, she gathers her skirts forward between her legs and holds onto them as she ascends the rope ladder. She is much slower than Dobby and Connor had been before her but she doggedly continues upward, attempting to ignore the fact that her calves are exposed to her knees indecently to the men below. Connor reaches down and lifts her the rest of the way up onto the deck when her head is above the railing. Dobby is nowhere in sight and the sailors manning the ladder tip invisible caps to Catherine in greeting before returning to their duties.

Catherine is immediately taken back to when she was only eleven and had crossed the Atlantic Ocean between London and the colonies with her father. A budding sense of excitement fills her stomach and she looks around at the Aquila with wonderment at its complex system of ropes, pulleys, masts and sails. The ship moves subtly beneath her feet and though the deck she stands on is large and solid, the sense of movement is constant. She remembers walking along with her father, holding her hat on her head as the winds blew and carried them over the endless expanse of water all around them. In the two and a half months that it took to travel from London to New York, Catherine's curiosity and precocious nature had won many of the hearts of the sailors, much to her father's chagrin.

Catherine laughs to herself when she recalls her father's angry, reddened face from her perch partway up a section of closely spaced rigging. A rope had been tied around her waist and slung up and over the top of the rigging, the end of which was held tightly by a sailor in case she fell. Two other sailors flanked her as she climbed as well, but William had quickly put an end to her adventurous escapades after that. She never forgot the tirade he had gone on, expounding the many ways she had behaved in an unladylike manner and how dangerous it had been for her to attempt such a foolhardy act. He had then accompanied her to each of the sailors involved and she was made to tell them that no such behavior would be permitted in the future, for it is not befitting a lady to do such things. The sailors had shamefacedly apologized to her and William, though they still managed to involve her in less dangerous acts of defiance to ladylike decorum. They let her help pull ropes attached to sails, showed her different ways to tie knots, and quietly taught her swears that would make even the saltiest sailor blush. She left all of the crewmen involved laughing uproariously at her little voice speaking such wicked words with innocent enthusiasm. She can barely remember them anymore but makes a silent promise to herself to attempt dredging up a good one to surprise Connor with.

A steady stream of Assassins and sailors starts to pour over the railing so Connor leads Catherine on a quick tour of the deck of the ship, ending at the door to the captain's cabin. He opens the door and walks down the few stairs at the end of a small landing and crosses the darkened interior to open the shutters over the windows. The light that streams in reveals a surprisingly large and sparse yet comfortable space that takes up the full width of the stern of the ship. Windows are located on three sides and brightly illuminate a large, solid desk secured to the floor and centered to the back wall. The bed is to Catherine's left, built into the side of the ship, similarly to the wardrobe that is across the room on the right and tucked into the corner. Some low shelves run along the wall on the right containing some books and a few notable pieces of coral and large shells but are relatively neat and empty, similar to the cabin by the waterfall deep in the frontier. An inkwell and correspondence box sit on the top of the desk but nothing else occupies its large, empty expanse. Next to the bed is a small table with a porcelain bowl set into a round hole in the top to keep it from going anywhere when the ship is on rough waters. An ewer sits in the bowl and a towel hangs from a wooden dowel below the surface of the table.

"Do you think maybe I shouldn't stay with you in here?" Connor turns from depositing the large bag on the bed and appears disconcerted.

"And have you sleeping below decks with the men? No." He moves closer to her where she stands at the bottom of the short flight of stairs.

"Is this about Dobby?" Catherine nods sheepishly.

"If she is jealous, let her be. Our relationship ended a long time ago and I have not complained about the men she has lain with since, though I would prefer she did it less… overtly when I am around."

"Are we not being overt by sleeping in the same bed?"

"Only if we make a lot of noise about it." Catherine lowers her head and blushes, imagining some of their more vocal moments in such a public setting.

"Everyone will know we're lovers." Connor steps even closer and touches Catherine's clasped hands.

"They already know. They will not criticize either of us."

"And Dobby?"

"Give her time. She will eventually leave you alone. Do not respond to her goading; it is what she wants." He pulls on her hands and leans down to kiss her forehead.

"I must speak with my men. We will assemble below deck shortly to discuss what the next step will be. I could use you there. You may have valuable insight that our spies have not been able to obtain."

"Tell me more about this second message." Connor addresses Jamie, crossing his arms over his chest. His hood hangs down his back and he leans against one of the support posts for the staircase that leads from the upper deck. The Assassins and Catherine are gathered around a large crate being used as a table in the crew's quarters of the Aquila. A lantern shines brightly from its center, illuminating the faces of everyone present.

"We received a letter from Aveline shortly after we sent the first message. It was in code form but she had used the same code from the last time we had needed to communicate safely. It was a risk, but the information she had was important. In addition to Sergio appearing in her district and sticking his nose into the slave markets along the coast, as you already know from the information we sent you, she later discovered that he has relocated to Cuba completely."

"Why would he do that?" Connor muses, almost to himself.

"I'll tell you why. Aveline captured one of his men and managed to get some information out of him. He has a fort. A Goddamned fort, Connor. He's rebuilding some abandoned fortress somewhere on the island and we need to find out why. Aveline has switched our meeting place to an island off the coast of Cuba called Heneagua. And things have also changed here rather quickly; we suspect his son will follow him because he recently sold Parry Textiles and its assiciated estate. The Martinez mansion is up for sale as well." Catherine gasps.

"Our business was worth a fortune! He could do anything with that kind of money!" Jamie nods his head in agreement with her.

"He got quite a haul from it from what we understand. No Continentals for him. He got his price in gold. Your father's business was one of the best in the area. It's now in the hands of one of the wealthiest men in New York, though his pockets will be a bit lighter until he can recoup the purchase price." Turning to Connor, Jamie continues.

"And then the son was spending a bit of time at the docks with a large and rather well guarded chest. Several of his hired lackeys took it onto a ship headed for Havana. It was after that that the Martinez estate was put on the market. Something big is happening that requires a lot of money."

"What do our inside men have to say about this? Can we gain access to any private records?" Connor asks the gathered Assassins.

"All they can say is the talk within the house among the few remaining servants is that everyone is expecting to be out on the streets looking for work as soon as the estate is sold. The only people who have access to locked rooms were brought with the Martinez's when they came to New York. We were never able to get anyone into the inner circle." Jacob says with a combination of frustration and apology in his voice. Connor nods. Dobby places both of her hands on the crate and leans on it. Catherine can't help but notice her smirk when several eyes dart in the direction of her opened blouse and then quickly move away. She knows how to play her game.

"We could just steal a key from one of them like I've suggested before. It's the only reasonable option we have left. Time is running out. Connor, you must see the logic in taking a high risk for a superior result." Connor faces her calmly and his eyes remain firmly fixed on her face.

"And if the result is increased security, it makes our job more difficult. We cannot afford to lose any of our numbers on an information gathering mission. If Sergio is using a fort as his base of operations he will most likely be amassing trained men to protect it. I need every man we have if it comes down to an open attack." Dobby lowers her face slightly and looks up at him from under her dark eyebrows. Her icy blue eyes spark with irritation but she doesn't comment further. Connor looks around the table.

"What about Francisco's daily activities?"

"Except for that little jaunt to the pier with the well guarded chest of money it has been a lot of social events in the evenings with a young woman. He has another engagement tomorrow evening, it seems… let me see…" Jamie refers to a list of his notes.

"Yes, here. A performance of 'As You Like It' starring Thomas Wignell. Apparently it's his debut return to the American stage after a hiatus spent in Jamaica so it's a sold out show at the John Street Theatre. Our Mr. Martinez has one of the upper boxes reserved for himself and a guest. There also seems to be an invitation to dine afterwards with the same Mr. Wignell and his cousin, a Mr. Lewis Hallam Junior. That is all we have."

"Then we will be picking some locks tomorrow night." Connor turns to Catherine.

"You are familiar with the layout of this house. Do you know where we can find anything Francisco might have on his father's location?" Catherine is startled that he would ask her opinion.

"Well… his office is on the second floor down the hall from his father's office. He would spend hours in there with his logbooks and calculations."

"Could you lead us there quickly once we are inside?"

"Of course. And I'm fairly certain I know where a spare key is hidden."

"Very well." Connor gestures to the gathered Assassins, pairing Boston Assassins with New York Assassins quickly.

"Duncan, Jacob, I want you to scout the streets around the house. Make sure no one is watching them but us. Clipper and Dobby, you will keep eyes on the Theatre tomorrow night. Make sure you know where Francisco is at all times once he leaves the show. Stephane, I want you to watch the house while Jamie, Catherine and I are inside." He looks around the room at everyone.

"You all know what to do." A collective acknowledgement from the Assassins ends the formality and the group disperses.

Catherine lies awake in Connor's bed, listening to the sounds of the ship. The voices of the two sailors calling out the hours of the night watch reach her, along with the quiet creaking of the wood as the ship moves with the waves. Connor breathes deeply beside her and he has pushed the covers down to his waist. The bright light of the moon enters through the many windows of his cabin, outlining his body and his face where it is turned toward the cabin. His left leg is bent out to the side and his right hand rests on his stomach. Catherine can't help but look down his body from his face to his necklace, over the contours of his chest and down to his stomach where she watches the rise and fall of his hand as he breathes. As they had gotten ready for bed he had come up behind her, kissed her neck and unlaced her shift while her hands were occupied with braiding her hair. He had slid it off of her shoulders and pushed it down to the floor when she had lowered her arms, giving her every indication that he wanted to be intimate but she had quietly objected. Her thoughts had refused to break away from Dobby's unkind behavior toward her and the stress of what the next night would bring. Connor hadn't pushed the matter and somehow he had been able to fall asleep rather quickly while she lay on the inside of the bunk, staring at the ceiling. Now she feels cruel for having withheld herself from him. They hadn't made love since the night before Sonehso:wa had come to Connor with the note. Between the stress and exhaustion of their travels and the hectic time spent in Albany and on the river, there had never been a moment that was conducive to it. Now they finally have privacy and she has let everything around her intrude and steal it away from them.

Rolling on her side, Catherine lightly traces a finger down Connor's arm. He stirs and takes a deeper breath, turning his head on the pillow and letting his hand fall off of his stomach to lie against his side. Catherine sits up and looks at him, allowing the blankets to drop down to her hips. He raises his left hand to his neck and rubs it lightly before resting his palm on his chest and taking another deep breath. Even her light touch seems to have awoken him. He opens his eyes and tilts his head at her watching him before reaching up and tucking his left hand behind his head. Catherine knows he would never be angry with her over something so trivial as not wanting to be intimate but she feels awful for it anyway.

Catherine's eyes shine in the darkness and the moonlight favors her pale nakedness with a pastel blue cast accented by the darker midnight hue of her lips and nipples and the shadowy curves of her body. The snowy blue-white of the sheets pooled around her hips and over her legs only add to the visceral beauty of the scene. Connor remains as silent as she is, unwilling to break the dream-like quality of the moment. Catherine raises her right hand slowly and rests it on his stomach over his navel. Her skin is warm, a striking contrast to the watery coolness of everything in sight around them. Even more slowly, she leans over and kisses him, moving her hand up until it rests below his left shoulder. Connor is unable to resist touching her and he brings his right arm around her waist and draws her body down against his. She slides her right hand over to the side of his neck and he takes it with his left.

Settling herself comfortably along his body, Catherine looks up and watches him as he uncurls the fingers of her right hand and kisses her palm before resting her hand down on his chest. The steady beat of his heart under her hand and the sensation of Connor's fingers lightly stroking her back and shoulder lull her to sleep at last.

Catherine keeps to herself for most of the morning. She feels more comfortable alone in Connor's cabin, sitting in his chair and watching the view of the docks from the windows. The noises the sailors and Assassins make on the deck over her head ring with the busy movements of preparation. The bustle is foreign to her and she is convinced she would be in the way simply because she has no real role other than a few meager bits of experiential information. Part of her is still trying to accept that she is back in New York, a place she never thought she would dare return to once she knew the truth about her farcical marriage. At least here on the Aquila she is out of sight and safe. The confines of the Captain's cabin provides an additional shield to her worries and keep her separate from the other reason for her need to hide. Whenever Dobby speaks, her higher pitched voice carries sharply to Catherine's ears and reminds her that she lurks out there. Right now, she isn't sure she could handle any jabs to the many holes in her emotional armor from that woman. Even Connor is unable to convince her to leave the cabin, though he tries several times throughout the day.

The preparations continue and Catherine's apprehension grows. Duncan and Jacob leave the Aquila in the early afternoon to scout the area around the Martinez estate and take up the best positions to keep on the watch. Clipper and Dobby leave shortly afterward and everyone is glad for it because they had been bickering endlessly over the merits of their respective cities. They had both attempted drawing the other Assassins into their argument but they had wisely decided against joining in. The sounds of preparation are slowly replaced by the songs of the sailors as they go about their tasks on the ship. Catherine takes her time unbraiding her hair and begins the long process of pinning it up into a mass of curls and dressing for the evening's events. She is unable to tighten her corset as much as she had been able to in the days before simply because every time she pulls on the laces her nausea and anxiety increase exponentially. It is all she can do once she is dressed just to stand by the window and watch the sun set behind the city. Her fingers never stop moving on the belt and buttons of her clothing.

Catherine turns when Connor opens the door to the cabin. She knows it is time to go and without him even having to say anything, she takes a deep breath and walks over to him. Taking his knife out from where he has it tucked behind his belt instead of in its usual place, he bends down, lifts the bottom edge of Catherine's skirt and slides the sheathed blade into her boot.  When he stands, he takes her by the hand and squeezes it, giving her the strength to cross the threshold. Jamie and Stephane are talking by the railing with Faulkner. He greets Catherine with a loud laugh.

"There she is! I thought maybe you had jumped o'erboard and swam away! Don' be so nervous, love! I'm gonna' row you to shore and I'll be waitin' to row you back when it's over!" He takes her free hand and pats it before climbing down the ladder to the dinghy. As soon as he is in it two sailors pull the rope ladder up and Connor helps Catherine over the railing so she can hang on to it and be lowered down to Faulkner. She sits down with a sigh of relief in the tippy little boat and the other three men quickly join her in rapid succession.

All too soon they are disembarking onto a lantern-lit pier. The group leaves Faulkner leaning against a piling and walks at a leisurely pace through the city. When they near the estate, Catherine holds tightly to Jamie's elbow while Connor and Stephane scout ahead. Jamie whispers to Catherine to look on the roof of the building across the street. Just barely visible within the shadows is the bulky form of Jacob where he crouches next to a chimney. Jamie explains why his position is so good; he has a clear view of the convergence of several streets from his location and unless someone knows where to look no one can see him. Catherine nods but she can really only focus on not letting her knees buckle as she walks.

The mansion comes into sight. Connor and Stephane are both leaning with their backs against the wall on either side of a door. Jamie draws Catherine into the shadow of an adjacent building and looks around the corner.

"It's clear to go." He whispers to her after a moment. He leads her at a brisk trot across the open space. Connor is crouched in front of the door while Stephane watches the area carefully for any signs that they have been spotted. With a few quick movements of his hands, the lock clicks and he quietly opens the door. He looks inside and then nods to Jamie before slipping inside. Jamie leads Catherine into the house and they have a quick whispered conversation.

"Alright, WildCat, we will follow your direction." Catherine nods at Connor and takes a deep breath. A sudden sense of calm comes over her. It is too late to turn back so she must go forward.

"We're behind the kitchens. There is a small staircase in the pantry that leads to the upper floors. We should go that way."

"Good. Stay between us." Connor takes the lead and Jamie follows behind Catherine. They pass through the empty kitchen and Catherine points out the pantry door. Once they are in the staircase they move quickly. At the second story landing Connor halts them with a raised hand.

"Wait here." Connor whispers. He and Jamie move quickly out the door and turn in opposite directions to scout the hallway. They return to the stairway in only a minute.

"All is quiet on this floor. See if you can find that key and we will scout the third floor." Catherine nods.

"You can do this, WildCat." Connor whispers.

"I know I can."

Connor and Jamie disappear up the stairs and Catherine moves quietly through the hall towards Francisco's office. He keeps all his books there and any other items of value for the business. Her steps are silent, muffled by the rich runner that spans the entire length of the hallway. Outside the door is a credenza with a large vase on a stand. Catherine slides her fingers under the stand and feels the bottom of it. A moveable piece of wood slides easily under her fingers and a key drops into her hand. It is cold and hard and she squeezes it tightly in her fist before silently inserting it into the lock. As soon as the key turns she opens the door and steps quickly inside the spacious room. The sight before her almost stops her heart and her feet refuse to move any farther.

"Marco, I said I will be just another…" Francisco cuts off his flow of Spanish when he looks up from writing in a ledger at his desk.


	20. Inquisition

Catherine had forgotten how attractive Francisco is. His eyes, deep russet flecked with green and framed by dark eyelashes, smolder beneath black brows and his luxuriant ebony hair is pulled back neatly into a smooth ponytail that ends in perfect curls. He is dressed in a flawless uniform of mostly black with gold buttons and ornate trim adorning the jacket and cuffs. It fits him perfectly shows off his naturally able-bodied physique. The austere black is softened by a white silk cravat expertly tied around his neck and falling in a cascade down his chest and satiny black waistcoat. He has started to let his beard grow in and it serves to accentuate the darkness of his hair, eyes and eyebrows against his light skin. But his lips, so full and inviting, the very same ones that had drawn her eyes when she first met him in person, are now curled in shock and distaste for what he sees before him, as if a filthy beggar had just expired on his floor. He rises slowly to his feet and lays his quill down along the open spine of the ledger on the desk. His sneer smoothes into a flat, deceptive smile. Catherine is shocked to recognize it as his usual expression for her.

"Catherine, what a surprise to see you. We had thought the worst had happened. Are you well?" Spreading his hands out to the sides, Francisco's sonorous voice fills the air, dripping with false empathy and unctuously over-played concern. He steps out from behind his desk and moves as smoothly and quickly as a snake across the large, open space to shut the office door behind her. Catherine's feet refuse to move; she has become paralyzed by her emotions. They confuse her, for part of her is still attracted to Francisco's suave good looks and fastidious attention to detail. He has always taken great care with his personal appearance, that of everything he surrounds himself with and at maintaining an imposing, seemingly unflappable presence. Another part of her wants to kill him for what he did to her and an overpowering tide of disgust and revulsion fills her with repugnance and causes her to crush her hands into fists where they are hidden in her skirts. Two sides, attraction and hate, do battle in her heart and mind, rendering her rigid with apprehension and unease. With him so close, his scent fills Catherine's nose; the heady musk of his body and the light perfume of freshly ironed clothing and imported sachets of potpourri the maids always use to freshen the linen remind her of the times she spent with him and of a life that seems to have occurred decades ago. The combination makes her light headed and she sways slightly on her feet before she can steady herself. Memories flood her mind and each and every one of them is tainted by the rancid truth of his betrayal.

"Don't you dare feign interest in my well-being!" Catherine's voice is low when she finally finds it and she barely restrains her anger at him for playing her for a fool.

"Catherine! How very unlike you. I thought I had refined your… base birthright and taught you the manners befitting a lady. Too much time in the woods has made you into a commoner again." He tsks at her, shaking his head in a patronizing manner and waving his hands dismissively. Catherine is nauseated by how much his mannerisms now resemble his father's.

"Stop it, Francisco. I'm here for one reason. It doesn't have to end in bloodshed if you give me what I want."

"Bloodshed? I am confounded, my dear."

"No you aren't. How else would you know I've been outside the city if what happened to me was such a mystery? Anika told me about your pretentious search party and the so-called evidence they found that I had been robbed and drowned in the river." No longer pretending to be kind, his voice becomes hard and cold, though frighteningly polite when he responds to her accusation.

"Aah, so that worthless, jumped-up servant lives?" He makes a dismissive motion with his hand.

"And what, pray tell, could you possibly want of me that I would ever consider giving you?" A chill slithers up Catherine's spine at the unspoken threat lurking behind his words. It crushes even her anger for his wretched insult to Anika.

"I know you and your father are seeking to market slaves. Give me your maps of your father's fort and we will let you live."

"We? You look awfully alone to me…" He lunges toward her and Catherine moves just a moment too late and can't dodge him. She screams as he grabs her and tightens his arms around her body. With her heart racing in terror, she finally breaks her inertia and, dropping towards the floor, slips out of his grasp. Francisco stumbles over her with a curse as Catherine rolls to the side, her feet tangling in her skirts for what seems like an eternity. The gauzy material tucked into her bodice pulls free and hangs from her body as she struggles to her feet. Catherine's hat tugs uncomfortably on her hair and partly obscures her vision as she runs across the room to Francisco's desk. As soon as her hand falls on the top drawer, he is behind her, grasping the back of her dress and shoving her down onto the desk. Only by the barest of margins does Catherine turn her head in time to avoid having her face smashed onto the hard surface. Her right ear takes the brunt of the impact and it rings painfully. Francisco grabs her by her arms and hauls up on them to drag her away from the desk. Catherine screams and struggles in real fear before regaining control of herself. She allows Francisco to restrain her, pretending to be weak as he tightens his left arm across her stomach and his right over the left side of her face, twisting her head painfully to the right.

Francisco caresses her cheek and shushes her before speaking softly in her ear, his voice as low as a viper and just as terrible. His touch is repulsive and Catherine shudders under his hands.

"You dare confront me, in my home? To steal from me!" He punctuates his angry words by digging his fingertips roughly into her skin. Catherine closes her eyes and finds it easy to whimper as if in fear, for her heart is racing in real anxiety. Francisco shushes her again and she drops her hands from his restraining arms and buckles her knees, pretending faintness. When she is low enough, she stealthily pulls up her skirt to grasp the handle of Connor's hunting knife tucked into her boot. Francisco jerks her upward roughly, the force of it disguising Catherine unsheathing the knife. She turns the weapon and hides the blade behind her wrist, pressing her arm tightly against her leg. The knife is warm from its place in her boot. Only the points of the serrated portion of the blade against her skin remind her that she holds more than a chunk of wood in her hands.

"Get up! What did you think would happen? Did you honestly believe you could storm my castle and take anything from me? Everything in this house is mine. I am your husband; I own you. Did you forget about that little detail?" A tremor runs through Catherine's body at his emphasis of the legal title he still technically holds over her and Francisco laughs, tightening his hand on her face and stretching her neck until her tendons feel close to snapping. He twists her head to the right until she cries out. A pain at the junction of her neck and head shoots jagged arcs of black lightning over the top of her skull, blinding her.

"I don't enjoy having to break your neck… but I would be lying if I said it doesn't give me a small bit of satisfaction. I do hate loose ends." Francisco breathes through his teeth into her ear. His warm breath slithers over the skin of her neck, drawing up bitter bile to Catherine's tongue. Slowly, he pulls on Catherine's face and the pain starts to grow sharp at the base of her skull and the fingers of both her hands burn and tingle. With a motion based half on her training with Connor and half out of fear and desperation, she raises the knife in her fist, gripping the hilt until her knuckles want to crack and plunges it into Francisco's thigh as hard as she can. With so much of her terror giving strength to her hand, the knife cuts through her skirts and his pants, glancing off of his femur on its way in. The sudden redirection jerks the handle in her grasp and it comes to rest buried deep in his muscles with the hilt pressed into his skin.

Francisco screams, releasing his hold on Catherine's head, and she wrenches the knife free, the serrated portion of the blade cutting its way out of his flesh with a meaty, dragging resistance. She pushes against his abdomen with her left elbow and hurls her body away as he clutches at the wound with both hands, blood gushing out between his fingers. Spinning dizzily to face him, she holds the dripping knife out in front of her and uses the edge of the desk for balance. Francisco grabs at her arm but she slashes at him, leaving a long slice across the back of his hand. Her surprisingly defensive move keeps him from lunging for her a second time. Francisco's blood runs down the knife and drips onto the back of her hand, seeping down her wrist and cooling on her skin in long, dark lines. So much blood… It saturates Francisco's pant leg and pools on the floor beneath his foot.

"You little bitch! I'll fucking kill you!" He screams at her, his face twisted and reddened with rage and agony. The locked door handle rattles and both Francisco and Catherine look at it.

"You won't keep those maps from me, Francisco."

"We'll see about that…" is his arrogant reply until the door is kicked open, sending splinters of wood from the frame spinning through the air to land at their feet. The door bangs against the wall and ricochets back but Connor walks into the room, blocking the door with his arm and sending it swinging back toward the wall. He takes in the scene in an instant and advances quickly across the room to grab Francisco by the throat with both hands. His momentum carries Francisco backwards and Connor slams him up against the wall, his feet dangling several inches off the floor.

"Francisco Martinez."

"Who… You have no right!" Francisco chokes out with his hands gripping Connor's wrists. The high pitched sounds of a woman struggling in the hall become louder until Jamie ushers a fraught woman into the room, holding her by her elbows. Francisco's eyes widen when he sees her and he scrabbles at Connor's arms, leaving bloody trails on his white sleeves.

The woman is weeping, yet her beauty is still as staggering as Catherine remembers. What is Isabella doing here? As Francisco's cousin, she was only supposed to be accompanying him for the wedding and before Catherine had been taken she had booked a March passage on a ship bound for Spain. Dressed in an ornate beige damask gown with intricate embroidery in gold and black adorning the wide neckline and picking out a pattern over the silken fabric, she screams out when she sees Connor holding Francisco by the throat and the blood running from his leg, trailing across the floor to a large puddle in front of Catherine. Her rich, olive skin is flawless and the color that has risen in her cheeks from struggling with Jamie is accentuated by the large, pink diamond hanging from a gold chain nestled at the top of her breasts. Her smoky, dark eyes dart around the room as she shakes and babbles in barely coherent Spanish to Francisco, her words garbled by her sobs and rising in pitch steadily as she becomes more and more agitated. Some tendrils of her elaborately coifed black hair drape over her exposed shoulders and frame her face, evidently having fallen free during her capture and subsequent struggles with Jamie. A single red jeweled flower hairpin that appears to have been part of her updo is hanging beside her jaw, caught in several strands of her hair. Her shrieks almost drown out Connor as he drops Francisco to his feet and loosens his grip on his throat slightly.

"Silence the woman before I have my man do it for you." Francisco looks between Connor and Catherine defiantly until Connor hardens his mouth and extends his hidden blade, drawing the tip of it along his cheek and releasing a trickle of blood. Isabella screams, her sobbing cries coming in bursts as she struggles against Jamie.

"Isabella. Isabella!" Francisco has to shout before she hears him over the incessant shrillness of her voice. Her yammering tapers off and she leans forward from Jamie's grip on her elbows, gasping and jerking her shoulders, trying to go to Francisco but only succeeding in exposing her ample décolletage to Catherine, Connor and Francisco's view, a long segment of her hair and the pink diamond swaying in the air in front of her.

"Stop screaming, for god's sake! You sound like a swine being butchered." Francisco's snarls in Spanish. His voice is harsh and Isabella reels backward as if he struck her. She makes an indignant sound, pouting her lips like a child and stomping her foot. She hurls an impish invective at Francisco and stands quietly, tossing her hair with a flounce and scowling over her shoulder at Jamie with a final shrug of her shoulders. The flower pin breaks free of her hair and falls to the floor at her feet, skidding over the polished hardwood and coming to rest against the edge of the area rug.

Connor turns to face Francisco once more, keeping his fist closed tightly around his rumpled cravat.

"Why did you and your father target Catherine?" Francisco sneers at Connor.

"I wonder why you care so much? Or are you just paid muscle?" Connor retracts his blade and slaps his palm against the wall hard enough to make Francisco turn his head away but he starts to laugh and addresses Catherine, jerking his chin toward Connor.

"Oh, I see now. You've given yourself to him. A heathen's whore."

Connor snarls and hauls him back from the wall only to slam him against it again.

"That is not what I asked you!" Connor shouts at him, his face inches from Francisco's.

"Fine, dog. But I'm telling her, not you. I don't converse with animals." Connor glares at him but says nothing. Francisco faces Catherine with a sneer on his face.

"You were nothing special. You were never anything other than a stepping stone. We only needed your money."

"Why? You're wealthier than we ever were." Catherine asks him, looking into the eyes she once found so attractive but now are only filled with coldness and iniquity.

"Oh, my darling Catherine…" He mutters condescendingly, shaking his head as if she is a stupid, ignorant child.

"All you have ever known of us is what we allowed you to. We used our money to create an empire and we would never have had to rub shoulders with you or your father if we had not run into trouble.

"We were doing fine until some child who fancied himself a pirate decided to take his daddy's ship and use it to slaughter our fleet. We hardly believed the stories when they reached us in Spain. A twenty something year old… boy, the illegitimate half breed get of a slave couldn't be capable of such carnage. We might have recovered our losses if the King of Spain had not found out. He called my father a traitor and sent for his arrest so we found asylum in England. We were left with nothing but the few connections we had not lost after taking on the commission to protect Britain's assets in the Caribbean. We needed to make a fresh start and my father came up with the perfect plan to remake the Martinez name into the glorious empire it is destined to be. But we needed more funds to carry it out than we had and your father was the perfect resource."

"You're a traitor to your country! And you used my father…"

"William was a business man with useful assets and an unwed daughter. He had no idea of what had happened to us and we did our best to keep news of it from spreading to the colonies. It was fairly simple with the war reaching such a pivotal crossing and the colonists making so much noise." Francisco's voice is full of pompous derision as he sweeps his eyes across the room and settles them on Isabella. His voice softens in a way it never had for Catherine.

"I had to tell Isabella what had happened and cancel our wedding. But she was an angel. She was willing to wait for me." Catherine makes a noise in the back of her throat. Francisco's eyes flicker in her direction but return to Isabella.

"We accepted you as a way to get back on our feet and start fresh. I always loved Isabella and I had not wanted to leave her for a woman living in a strange land but I had no choice. When your father got sick, it became the perfect solution to our financial problems. Your wealth allowed my father to start rebuilding. We will rise up, stronger, better, more powerful than ever."

"So I was always a pawn for you. I knew you never loved me." Catherine whispers as she shakes her head and stares at the floor. She raises her head and her voice reflects the disgust in her heart.

"You're a sick man Francicso! She's your cousin!" Catherine gestures toward Isabella and Francisco laughs in her face, ignoring Connor's frown and the way his fingers wriggle on his neck, threatening to tighten once more.

"That is just what we told you so you wouldn't become suspicious of her presence. I've been fucking her for years." Isabella's tinkling laugh comes from the other side of the room. Catherine turns her head and glares at the woman. Isabella cocks her hips at an alluring angle and smiles haughtily at her, simpering with satisfaction.

"He said you were a horrible lay, Senorita." Isabella stretches out the Spanish title with exaggerated articulation, rolling the "r" and ticking the "t" loudly. The sultry rasp of her voice only adds to her degrading remark.

"How could you be any good, with such tiny titties? Look at them! Like a little girl, not even a woman." She laughs again, waving her hand glibly in Catherine's direction and lifting her generously endowed chest upwards as much as she can in her restrained position. Jamie rolls his eyes behind her in frustration but Catherine's shoulders slump ever so slightly at Isabella's insults. She had always felt inferior in her presence, envious of her sensuous curves and goddess-like beauty. Isabella had hidden her distain well and now that there is no more reason for pretense she is unleashing all her vitriol towards Catherine. Francisco forestalls any further barbs from Isabella. He turns his eyes completely to Catherine, their depths devoid of compassion or affection of any kind.

"If you expect me to apologize, Catherine, I will not. I'm a Martinez and I will never let our name fall into infamy… no matter what it takes or who we have to use." Connor finally loses his patience for pointless conversation.

"Enough of this!" he roars.

"Where is your father's fort?"

"Far from your reaches, heathen." Connor stabs his hidden blade into the woodwork beside Francisco's neck. The edge of it cuts into his skin when he pulls it out and Isabella gasps.

"Where is it? Tell me where." Connor's voice is as quiet as the blackest, most eerie night and twice as frightening. He lowers his face and looks into Francisco's eyes, his features flat, expressionless and shadowed by his hood. It is truly terrifying, for his empty look gives him the appearance of a man who will deal just enough damage to bring debilitating pain but not enough to kill his victim. Francisco's eyes dart from side to side like a trapped animal and then he seems to slump under Connor's relentless gaze.

"Cuba." Connor shakes his head, irritated.

"I know it is in Cuba. Tell me where… in Cuba." Some of Francisco's bravado returns to him.

"Does it matter? No one can stop us now." he sneers.

"You will provide me with maps detailing the location of the fort." Connor retracts his blade, turns with Francisco's neck still gripped in his hand and throws him toward the desk. Francisco stumbles and falls gracelessly to one knee from the wound in his leg. Isabella screams once and then is silent. Francisco winces and clutches his thigh, dragging himself to his feet with the corner of the desk and falling into the ornate high backed chair behind the desk. Catherine moves to stand beside Connor as he glowers at them from his seat and opens the map drawer just below the writing surface. He cursorily flips through them and then looks up at Connor.

"I cannot find them." Connor lifts his chin and looks over toward Jamie. At the same moment, Jamie pulls a knife from his belt and brings his arm around Isabella, pulling her to his chest and placing the blade against her neck.

"You will find them or your pretty little Isabella dies. Just a small cut in the right place… It won't hurt much but she'll bleed out in minutes while you watch it happen…" Jamie calls out from his place by the door. Isabella shrieks and struggles until Jamie presses his thumb into the soft skin of her neck. He whispers to her and she ceases to fight. Connor looks sharply once at his fellow Assassin but raises no questions. Francisco's face goes pale and he clears his throat.

"They're… in the library." Connor closes the distance to the desk in two long strides and grabs Francisco by the back of his jacket, hauling him to his feet and raising his hidden blade up threateningly.

"Catherine. Take those things and then lead the way. We will see if he is lying to us." Addressing Francisco, he adds an additional threat.

"Believe me when I say that if you are lying, you will need all the mercy from your god to save yourself from me. It is Catherine's wishes alone that stay my blade from taking your life right now but I will defy them if you test my patience." Francisco looks at Catherine with incredulity as she walks toward the desk. When she places the blade down she hides her shaking hands by tucking the gauzy material neatly back into her dress and repinning her hat into place, sliding some stray pieces of hair behind her ears. Pulling the drawer open, she takes up the stack of maps and rolls them into a tube. Some string in the very back of the drawer catches her eye and she reaches for it to bind the roll of maps. A grating sound comes from inside as she lifts the string. Two rings, a small one and a large one, are threaded on it. Catherine's breath catches when she sees them. Made of gold and engraved with a single name on the inside of each one, they shine dully in the light from the lamp on the desk. The names inside almost make her heart stop: William, Amelia.

The small ring used to hang from a finely wrought gold chain around her father's neck. He had never stopped mourning the loss of the young wife he loved so dearly and when Catherine was a teenager she would sometimes catch him holding the ring and speaking softly to it, as if her mother could hear his words. She remembers being even younger, sitting on her father's lap and playing with the ring on his necklace, reading her father's name inscribed on the inside of it. Her mother's name is written on the inside of her father's ring and he had shown her the script. She tears her eyes from the rings dangling from her fingers and stares at Francisco. He watches her with derision.

"Why did you keep them? They can't possibly have any meaning for you."

"My father saved them as some sentimental keepsake. I wanted to have them smelted down or sold but he apparently had viewed your father as a friend, in a way. To be honest, they're worth so little, I had forgotten about them." The way he is standing prevents Connor from seeing the satisfied smirk that twists his lips when Catherine's face crumples at his words. She holds the rings cupped in the palm of her left hand and stares at them before looping the string over the fingers of her right. She snaps it and reaches under the neckline of her dress to tuck the rings safely into her corset. With a blank expression, she ties the string around the maps and tips the quill out of the log book to shut it. After taking up the logbook, maps and the knife she moves stiffly past where Connor stands with Francisco. At the door Jamie backs up, dragging Isabella with him to allow her to exit the room. Catherine brushes past them, walking numbly towards the library.

Her thoughts are whirling. Though she had asked Connor not to kill Francisco, she finds her hand clenching the handle of the knife so hard that the dried blood on her skin cracks and flakes off. Behind her, Francisco's stumbling footsteps and Isabella's echoing, throaty protestations seem indistinct and far away. Her thoughts are trapped here in this house, a world she had lived in only months ago and is still so recognizable, but oh, how things have changed. She senses Connor's barely restrained rage even with the distance between them and she thought he would lose control of it several times already. It fuels her own anger, something she had finally managed to repress enough to move on with her life. Now, with the discovery of the rings and the open hatred Francisco bears toward her, it has grown and changed into something she doesn't recognize, a beast of terrifyingly magnificent proportions that pads silently in a lurid and ghostly halo around her, visible only to her eyes. If she lets go for only a moment, it will cause her to spin and use the knife in her hand. Before she can stop it, her hand begins to rise from her side and her fingers change her grip on the hilt just slightly, testing the solidity of it in her grasp. If she kills him now, half of her troubles will truly be in her past and then only Sergio will stand in the way of the sweetest freedom she had only dreamed about. With Connor by her side and the Brotherhood at her back she would be unstoppable…

The pain in her jaw from clenching her teeth finally gives her pause. What is she thinking? Does she really believe she could kill Francisco? Could she, even in the throes of incensed passion? Her heart is indeed treacherous, for as she forces herself to picture driving the blade into Francisco's chest, looking into his eyes as his life slips from him, her bravado leaves her just as quickly, the fabricated beast of angry courage dissipating like mist. Her next step makes her stumble and she throws her left hand holding the logbook out and leans against the dark wood paneling along the lower half of the wall. The maps roll against her foot where they fall. A sob creeps up into her throat and she swallows hard to keep it inside, pressing her fist holding the knife against her chest.

"Catherine?" Connor's voice comes from behind her so she snatches the maps from the floor and straightens immediately.

"I'm fine. We're almost there." Her voice is unfamiliar to her and it buzzes in her skull. Her next step is firm and Connor's angry growl from behind her galvanizes her.

"Walk!" Connor prods Francisco and the man grumbles and resumes his limping steps. Catherine is far ahead of them and she clutches his hunting knife out before her as if she would slash at the shadows for appearing too dark in the unlit corners of this enormous house. Her steps are stiff and hurried and Connor knows she is holding herself together for his sake. She is angry and afraid but he knows he cannot help her or end this the way he wishes. He is unhappy about upholding his agreement not to kill this vermin yet if he betrays her… Losing her trust simply because he lacks compassion could be disastrous. He remembers a time when he thought he could have empathy such as hers. Needless killing is still something he strives to avoid but this man… Connor gives Francisco an additional shove to keep him moving at a steady clip. This man deliberately took steps to destroy Catherine. He lied to her, used her, abused her and cast her off when her purpose had been fulfilled. Connor is disgusted with both Francisco and himself, for a newly revealed, dreadful truth scorches his heart and threatens to tear down everything he has worked so hard for with Catherine.

It takes longer than Connor expects to reach the library. He is forced to drag Francisco up the stairs to the third floor just to keep up with Catherine. Jamie lifts Isabella and carries her, for she refuses to climb the stairs even with the threat of the knife at her throat and she makes it more difficult for him by kicking her feet. Catherine tries the handles of the double doors to the library and discovers them to be locked.

"The key?" Connor hisses.

"My waistcoat pocket. Right side." Connor takes both of Francisco's forearms and holds them so Catherine can dig in his pocket for the key. She studiously avoids looking at her husband's face because she knows she will find nothing but ill will there. She opens both of the heavy doors and swings them wide. Shelves full of books line all the walls and the endless rows only break up to allow for windows and their tall, floor to ceiling draperies. Catherine walks to the massive desk situated almost in the middle of the expansive space and places the logbook and roll of maps on it beside Connor's knife. Inside the map drawer and under a large blotter, she finds several maps of Cuba and a detailed schematic of a large, fortified structure. Finally daring to look up at Connor and Francisco, she nods. Connor shoves Francisco away from him into a chair next to a small, round table with drawers.

He steps close to Catherine and looks down at the building schematic.

"Good. This will help. Take all of these and see if you can find…" Jamie interrupts their conversation when he raises his voice.

"Don't even think about it. I will kill her if you try it." Connor spins to face Francisco and catches him withdrawing his hand from the small upper drawer of the table. Connor storms across the room.

"You are reaching the end of my patience!" He growls from between clenched teeth. Connor grasps the table and flings it across the room. The two drawers eject from it, sending small papers, a box of cigars, writing implements and a loaded pistol sliding across the floor.

"Temper, temper. She must let you do anything to…" Connor swings hard and fast, punching Francisco on the left side of his face and causing him and the chair to teeter to the side before returning to an upright position. Isabella struggles and manages to drag Jamie down to the floor but he rolls them both over and pulls her back up to her feet.

"I have grown weary of your insults." Connor says. Blood pours down Francisco's face and he spits several times to clear his mouth.

"And I have grown weary of knowing my… wife… fucks half-breed animals."

Connor leans over, takes a handful of Francisco's cravat and raises his fist again. Jamie calls out to Francisco.

"Jesus Christ, man! Do you want him to kill you? I would have already."

"Killing me won't change anything." Connor releases Francisco, realizing that for some strange reason the man seems to enjoy being a martyr. Instead of giving him another satisfying hit, Connor stands and crosses his arms.

A section of nearly identical logbooks fill one long row of shelving almost completely. Catherine goes to them and starts collecting the ones for the most recent years and stacking them on the desk to take her mind off of what she just witnessed. The tension is high and her heart is racing. Her hand slows and stops on the spine of another book when she hears Connor's next words.

"I know the year your father was brought down as a traitor to the Spanish crown. It was1779, was it not?" Catherine watches the men out of corners of her eyes.

The sides of Francisco's bloody lips turn down in uncertainty at Connor, a new look of concerned interest changing his features.

"You spoke of a half-breed slave boy. The tales that reached your father were wrong on that account. It was a half-breed Indian who sailed that ship. Me." Francisco's face falls and he leans against the arm of the chair.

"No. It can't be..." he wipes the blood from his lips.

"I am not just any heathen. I have captained the Aquila for years." Francisco looks down at his knees, dumbstruck, mouthing the name of Connor's ship soundlessly.

Confusion clouds Isabella's face.

"What does he mean? Francisco? Francisco what does that mean?" she asks in halting Spanish, her voice rising in pitch to a shrill bleat.

"Shut up, you stupid cow! It isn't true." Francisco shouts at her, making her cringe. Connor ignores their outburst, not understanding their words but knowing Francisco's meaning nonetheless from his tone.

"I watched your father's ships burning and sinking below the water. I should have pursued the lifeboats and blasted them into the ocean as well with my cannons."

With a racing heart, Catherine runs her hand down the remaining row of logbooks until she finds the one labeled 1779. Inside are dates and notes written in Sergio's distinctive Spanish script. Scanning the passages, her eyes fall on the word she is dreading to see. Aquila. She reads the notes and glances up at Connor where he still stands facing Francisco, his words running together in Catherine's head as he describes the decimation of Sergio's fleets in the waters around Cuba. He even seems to remember the names of some of the ships he sank. Her eyes fall back to the book in her hands and she rifles through several more pages and entries, each one detailing the many losses of men, ships, money and resources. Every one of them echoes Connor's words, only from a different perspective. Entry after entry contains the same name of the same ship. Catherine lowers herself to her knees as the words become blurry. Her stomach is churning and she can't catch her breath. The book slips from her nerveless hands. The sound of it hitting the wood floor causes all conversation to stop and every eye in the room to turn towards her.

Connor's heart constricts when he thinks of the fleets of imposter Spanish ships he had destroyed in the Caribbean Sea while captaining the Aquila during the war. Remembering his crew's cheers of victory as each ship burned and sank are daggers in him. Every song sung and bottle of rum passed around in celebration turn foul in his mind and sully the memories of the successes he had won as he had destroyed the British attempts to cut off supply and trade to Cuba. Each one had driven Sergio closer and closer to the stranglehold he had closed upon Catherine's neck. Connor had brought this upon her. Every strike and restraint, every slash of the whip, cut of the knife and tightly tied bond. It is as if he had done it. Every bruise, all her blood and pain and screaming… they make him wince as if he had been the one to rape her over and over. Even though he had not known his actions would produce this terrible outcome, guilt tears at him, sundering his insides until he fears he will crumble. Instead he uses his fury and guilt to fuel his desire to end the last bit of control these men have over her. He will free Catherine, for it is by his own hand that she walks in chains. If it takes him until his dying breath, nothing will stop him from doing what is necessary to undo the wrongs he has brought down on her. She is kneeling on the floor and her hands are clasped on her lap. The book sits at a crazy angle with one cover resting against her knee. Their eyes meet across the room and much of Connor's hope for reconciliation deserts him. Catherine's are barren and her features are blank and guarded.

"You have what you need now. I'm finished here." Catherine slowly picks up the fallen logbook from the floor. She stands, holding onto the shelving for support. Moving to the desk, she places the book on top of the stack of other logbooks in front of Connor without looking at him and walks from the room. Connor closes his eyes and lowers his face to the floor, shaking his head and embracing her anger into his soul. How can he blame her for leaving? He is the very spark that lit the fuse of her frightful undoing. The only thing left is to end what he unintentionally started. He will follow this path wherever it leads and find Sergio. That man will pay. The Templars will pay. He will leave a broad road of blood behind him if that is what it takes. Francisco's voice breaks his train of thought, unlocking two and a half decades worth of untold anger that always seethes beneath the surface of Connor's soul. Francisco shifts his lower jaw and spits blood onto Connor's boots.

"Oh, this is rich! It's better than Shakespeare!" Connor grabs Francisco and hauls him up out of his chair. He turns slightly to the right, raises his left boot and stomps on the side of Francisco's left knee, breaking bones and tearing ligaments. Francisco screams in agony and crumples to the floor, his knee buckled inward at a freakish angle. Isabella resumes her garbled keening. Connor leans down and lifts Francisco up by the shoulders of his uniform and smashes him against the window. Glass shatters and falls down three stories to the gardens below. Only the grip Connor has on Francisco's jacket keeps him from following the shards down to his death.

"You'll never get what you seek." Francisco gasps out.

"I will get it, one way or another. We are not as different as you think." Connor lets go of Francisco and he falls backward out the window. Surprisingly, he doesn't scream on his way down. Only the thud of his body landing on the hard ground and Isabella's frantic shrieks reach Connor's ears. She tears herself from Jamie's arms and runs toward the window. Connor blocks her and she throws herself against him, ineffectually attempting to push him aside. When she finds him unyielding she spins around and stumbles towards the far wall. Jamie chases after her, a shocked expression on his face.

When Jamie gets close, Isabella yelps and throws her arms up. Dark, sticky blood runs from the side of her neck, over her chest and stains the front of her dress.

"Stay away! Don't touch me!" Jamie reaches for her and she slaps his hands away.

"No! No! Don't touch me! NO!" Isabella starts coughing and she falls to her knees and starts to crawl.

"Damn you! Let me help you! You'll die!" Jamie shouts at her. Connor approaches and watches as blood pulses from her neck and drips onto the floor like syrup. Isabella reaches her right hand to her chest and it comes away painted with blood. She tries to cry out but only coughs more, spattering her arms, lips and the floor with crimson flecks.

"What did you do, Jamie?" Connor asks as he reaches for Isabella's left arm to raise her up. Her blood covers the front of his jacket from their brief struggle.

"I didn't do anything! She twisted away from me when you dropped Francisco. I had the knife to her… she slit her own throat!" Isabella hangs limply from Connor's hand by her upper arm.

"Help her!" Jamie springs toward Isabella and rolls her onto her back. She is already unconscious when he works his fingers deep into the slash in her neck, searching for the vessels he needs to compress. With his other hand he feels for her pulse. Unable to find it, he lowers his ear to her blood soaked chest and listens. Slowly, Jamie sits back and looks at the face of the woman lying on the floor. Her eyes are closed and her blood stained lips are pale. He raises his face to Connor and shakes his head. Connor turns and paces away. Jamie's voice carries to him.

"It's probably better this way." Connor storms back across the room. He slashes his hand across the air in front of him.

"She did not have to die!"

"You can't spare every innocent! She's a collateral loss for Francisco's deeds and you know it. She accepted his choices, which makes her part of it all. Don't be so noble that you're duped by a pretty face." Connor clenches his teeth, smashes his fist onto the desk and paces away. He raises both of his arms up and squeezes his hands into fists behind his lowered head. Jamie speaks again and Connor wheels around angrily.

"Go find Catherine. I'll get these things back to the ship."

"What is the use? You saw her! She wants nothing to do with me now."

"You're wrong. I saw a frightened woman who has just been given more bad news than she was expecting. It was six years ago for God's sake! How could you have known?" Connor shakes his head and picks up the knife from the desk, turning it in his hands.

"Go after her, Connor. You're a fool if you don't." The sound of hoof beats galloping away in the direction of the sea carries to them through the broken window. Connor glances outside and then runs out the door of the library, stuffing his knife behind his belt. Jamie looks down at the woman on the floor in front of him and gently lays her hands over her stomach, straightens the necklace on her neck and smoothes a lock of hair off of her face.

"Rest in peace, Isabella." He gets to his feet, collects the logbooks and maps and walks out of the room without looking back.

Catherine lifts her skirts and runs down the stairs of the Martinez mansion, unable to move fast enough to escape her thoughts. How is any of this possible? How can she and Connor be connected to each other by such a horrific set of circumstances? All she wants is to run as far and as fast as she can until she either frees herself or dies trying. Maybe it would have been better for her captors to have killed her after all than for her to fall deeply in love with a man only to find out he is the reason for her suffering to begin with. Her feet carry her out one of the back doors and across the grass to the stable before she realizes what she is doing. Yes. Her horse. Unless they sold her or gave her to one of Sergio's wicked thugs to abuse, she must still be here. She fumbles at the latch and hauls one of the giant stable doors open. The two horses inside catch her scent but only one pokes its dark head out of its stall. By all that is good and holy! At least one positive thing has happened this night!

"Cloudy!" Catherine gasps out, panting in short, gasping breaths from her running and the constrictive corset that prevents her from taking a complete breath. The dark mare whinnies at her voice and prances in her stall, the white blaze that paints the front of her face catching the light of the moon. Catherine reaches her horse's stall and clutches at her stomach, trying to catch her breath and unlatch the gate with her free hand. She almost screams when a figure leaps out of one of the empty stalls brandishing a pitchfork.

"Who's there? Lady Cat? Lady Cat! You're alive!" It is the young stable boy who always used to saddle her horse for her. Catherine would often give him sweets and little trinkets for his kindness. He looks like he wants to hug her when he drops his farm implement and takes several running steps toward her.

"Thomas! Oh, thank God! Hurry, I need Cloudy saddled. I'll help you."

"Lady Cat, I'll tell Lord Martinez yer alive!" Catherine grabs his arm.

"No! No. Please. Listen to me. When I leave here, you must leave as well. It's not safe here."

"I can' leave. Where'd I go? Th' stable's my bed and I need t' eat."

"Thomas, please! You don't understand. It isn't safe! If Francisco comes looking for me he'll hurt you to find out where I went. You must go. Anywhere. Go to Albany and find Isaac and Bethany Young. Tell them I sent you."

"Don't stay here tonight. You know the streets..." Catherine takes both of the boy's grubby hands in hers.

"Promise me, Thomas!" Catherine's panic frightens the boy and he stammers out a promise.

"Y-yes, Lady Cat. I promise." Catherine rushes to the tack room, followed closely by Thomas.

"This one." He takes down a sidesaddle and Catherine frowns at his selection but snatches a bridle off of a nearby hook anyway. At the door, Catherine peeks out cautiously to make sure there is no one around. Cloudy is tossing her head, picking up on her mistress's anxiety. She sidesteps when she is lead out of her stall and into the barn's center aisle. Together, Catherine and Thomas have her saddled up and ready to go in only a minute. Thomas links his fingers and Catherine uses his hands as a step to get onto the horse. She still marvels at the twelve year old's strength, but he had grown used to hard work and lifting heavy saddles. Catherine looks down at him one last time.

"Where will y'go, Lady Cat?"

"I don't know yet. I need to get my things and then I'll decide. Either way, don't forget. Tonight. Get away from here." The boy nods at her and she spurs her mare out of the stable. Once free of the stable doors, she urges her horse into a full gallop and races into the night. Thomas watches her go and is startled when a few moments later a hooded man dressed in white comes bursting through the door of the house. He looks around and spots him standing by the stable. As quickly as he sees him, the man starts running in his direction. Thomas is rooted to the spot for only a second before dashing off around the corner of the stable. He scrambles up a large tree and makes a dangerous leap to the roof of the stable. From there, he stays low and trots across a connection to a nearby rooftop and crouches behind a chimney stack. The man is nowhere in sight and Thomas breathes a sigh of relief until strong hand closes on his shoulder. Though he struggles as hard as he can, he stops when he makes no progress. He is caught. The man looks at him with a piercing gaze and Thomas can't help but notice the blood on his clothing and the many weapons that decorate his body. What has Lady Cat gotten herself into?

"Where did Catherine go?" Thomas jumps at the man's soft voice and seeming ability to read his mind.

"Please, sir, I'm jus' a stable boy."

"A stable boy who can help me. Where is she?"

"I don' know where she is! Please! Don' hurt her!"

"I have no intention of hurting her. I am trying to help her."

"How d'I know you ain't lyin to me, sir?"

"I do not lie about such things." Something about the man's tone has the ring of truth in it. As terrifying as he is, Thomas sees honesty in his eyes.

"She took th' dark horse with th' white stripe on her face an' white feet. It's her horse. Said she needed to get her things. She… she tole me t' leave here."

"Do as she says… Thank you." As quickly as the man had appeared, he is gone but when Thomas looks over the edge of the roof he sees him running off in the same direction Catherine had gone. He uses one hand to vault over the fence and then he is gone.

Catherine gallops her mare as fast as she can toward the waterfront. She can't formulate any kind of plan beyond retrieving her things and getting away. Anything more and she fears her soul will burst from her body and she will expire on the spot. She reaches the piers faster than she thought possible and she has to pull hard on the reins to slow Cloudy before she leaps right off of the cobblestones and into the water. Her mare turns in a circle, snorting and blowing, somewhat winded from her run. Catherine jumps down and throws the reins over a post. Faulkner is sitting in the dinghy with his feet up on the bench seat in front of him when she runs up to him.

"What happened? Where is everyone? Who's horse is that?" He jerks upright and flings his arms upward.

"They'll be on their way soon. Please take me to the ship."

"We can wait for them here."

"No, please Mr. Faulkner, take me there. I'm not waiting for them."

"Connor'll be mighty fired up if I'm not here when he gets back."

"I'll be quick." Faulkner crosses his arms and frowns at Catherine. In a panic, Catherine climbs into the dinghy and picks up the oars.

"I'll paddle myself then. If you want to wait for them, wait on the dock."

"Now wait just one blasted minute! You ain't paddlin' yerself to the ship." He sighs and sits forward, grabbing the oars from her.

"You ain't even sittin' the right way!" Catherine rubs her knees and looks behind them as Faulkner rows through the choppy waves toward the Aquila.

"Why are you so piqued? You look like you got a bounty on yer head, love."

"I…" Faulkner's questioning has agitated Catherine beyond her limits. She hugs herself and shakes her head as she hunches over and tries to keep her tears from overflowing. She turns and looks behind her once more and Faulkner sighs again.

"Now yer makin' me nervous with yer shifty lookin' behind and all." Catherine decides to just stop answering him and stares at her clasped hands in her lap. As soon as they reach the side of the Aquila, Catherine almost upsets the dingy in her frantic lurch toward the ladder.

"Aye, yer gonna dunk yerself in!" Faulkner exclaims, dropping an oar as he reaches to her side to stabilize her.

"Lady on the ship!" Faulkner shouts up as Catherine awkwardly climbs the ladder, yanking her skirts out from under her feet at every step. One of the sailors looks over the edge at her followed by a second man.

"Jus' 'old on!" the first one yells down at her and then he starts hauling the ladder up. Catherine watches Faulkner as he quietly curses and maneuvers the dinghy over towards the oar floating in the water. When she reaches the top, the second sailor takes her hands and helps her over the side. Barely squeaking out her gratitude, Catherine flees to the Captain's cabin to get her things. Just as she reaches it, she hears Faulkner rowing away. Her heart sinks but she goes inside anyway.

A small lantern on the desk is burning low, barely casting any light until Catherine raises the wick. She sets to her task with as much speed as she can. Taking out her clothes from the village, she lays them on the bed alongside her bow and quiver and starts to pack her few items back into the sack. Her hat slips forward and she removes the hatpin from her hair, dropping the hat onto the bed. She grabs the hairpins out of her tangled hair and scatters them on the desk in her haste. Lacking the time to do her hair neatly, she braids it quickly into a messy braid that hangs over one shoulder. Last of all, she starts to change. Her fingers are numb with her heightened stress and won't cooperate with the buttons on the overdress. At last she gets it off and she quickly pulls her petticoat off as well. Her shift is stained red where Francisco's blood had followed the path of Connor's knife and Catherine looks away as she reaches behind to start unlacing her corset. The strings tangle maddeningly and she tugs at them with frustrated gasps and cries. The tightness of it doesn't help her at all and the more upset she gets, the harder it is to breathe. She drops to her knees and picks blindly at the lacing as sweat breaks out all over her body. The distinctive dull thud of the dinghy bumping against the side of the boat disheartens her completely and she falls forward onto her hands, gasping for breath.

"Captain on the ship! And damn me if I have to row yer sweaty arses one by one, back and forth…there better be rum waitin' for me when I get back with the last a you lubs!" Faulkner's voice carries faintly into the cabin. The beating of Catherine's heart is loud in her ears. She squeezes her eyes shut and lowers her forehead onto the cool floorboards as Connor's voice mingles with the voices of the crewmen who pulled her up. How did he get here so fast? How did he know?

A knock sounds on the door and Catherine jumps, her body shaking with the silent sobs of her mixed emotions. She clutches at the top of her corset and sits back on her heels. She is dizzy and nauseous from her exertions and the room spins crazily, sending her body tilting backwards. She tumbles against the side of the built in bunk and then lies quietly on the floor, breathing hard.

"Catherine. I want to talk to you." Lowering the lantern in his left hand, Connor leans his forehead on the door and rests his palm against it over his head. When no response comes despite hearing her moving in his quarters, he knocks again.

"Please, WildCat. Let me in." He is answered by silence.

"I know you are in there. My men watched you go in and they assured me you have not left. May I come in?" Soft, tentative footsteps approach the door and her voice comes through quietly.

"No."

"Can we talk about this? I never… That happened years ago." She makes no response.

"I did not know it would bring harm to you. Please. Let me in." A long silence stretches and then the latch on the door clicks. Connor stands up straight and clasps his hands in front of his stomach, almost not believing that Catherine is letting him in. She opens the door and looks up at him. She has taken off her dress and she steps backward into the shadow cast by the door to hide herself from the view of anyone looking in their direction. One lantern glows brightly on his desk and combined with the moonlight shining through the windows and the light cast off from his lantern, the cabin is fairly well lit. Catherine's things are scattered over the bed; half of them are stuffed into her bag and her bow and quiver are lying next to it. Connor looks down into her reddened eyes and finds himself breaking to pieces. She turns her head to look farther into his quarters, indicating her assent and he almost falls down the stairs as he enters. Turning her back to him, she shuts the door behind him and he watches her with the lantern by his side. The strings of Catherine's corset hang down from her back in a messy tangle, looped and kinked in a rat's nest of disarray. The moment the door is fully shut, the weakness in his heart becomes overpowering. Everything he had planned on saying slips from his mind as Catherine wrings her skirt in her fists and watches him with a troubled expression on her face from her place above him by the door.

"I am sorry. I am sorry for what happened. Please forgive me. If you want to leave…" Connor heaves a sigh that comes from the bottom of his soul.

"…I will not stop you. I understand why you would wish it." As he finishes his broken train of thought, he lowers his head and stares at the long, black cracks between the floorboards. The old injury in his side feels as if it has reopened and his entire life is spilling out and falling through those hungry cracks. He raises his right hand to cover the scarred place despite knowing there is nothing he can hold inside.

Catherine watches Connor from against the door. Her heart is pounding and she is at a loss for words. She had been expecting something else, anything other than the apologetic words of a broken man. Should he not be angry with her for storming out and leaving him? Or possibly he would have tried to reason logically over the incalculable chance of their lives being obscurely connected for so long. She had prepared herself for some kind of confrontational eventuality but strangely enough, his few simple, heartfelt words have managed to knock aside the hodgepodge armor she had hastily thrown up around herself. He had even freely given her leave to walk away without putting up any resistance. His behavior is the opposite of what she had expected and it hurts so much more than any argument he could have made. She wants to go to him, to take his hands and hold them to her heart. Why would he let her go so easily? Does she mean so little to him? Yet here he is before her, only minutes behind her escape, as if desperate to stop her. Catherine watches him where he stands in front of her, an indescribably kindhearted man, frighteningly dangerous, quietly confident and capable of destroying ships and lives with ease… fractured, crushed and conflicted.

Connor's shoulders move subtly as he breathes, staring at the floor in his bloodstained Assassin's robes, holding the lantern in his left hand and the other against his side as if he has been mortally wounded. Catherine's mad rush to escape his presence only a short time earlier and her nauseous fear of seeing him again quickly fade out until she can sense the sound of her blood rushing in her ears and the soft sighing of the waves breaking against the sides of the ship. Everything seems to slow down, textures become pronounced and her vision clarifies until what she sees stands out in high contrast. For a few short moments she wonders if she will faint. Connor's voice is soft when he speaks to her through the dense air between them.

"I betrayed you." Catherine raises one hand out toward him and whispers a quiet protest.

"No…" Connor quickly lifts his head and she drops her hand back to her side from the force of his gaze.

"Before you are so quick to forgive, listen to what I have to say. The strikes on Sergio's ships in 1779 was something I had to do. As much as I hate what my actions have reaped, what I did was for a reason completely separate from what happened to you as a result."

"I know…" Connor shakes his head and Catherine presses her lips tightly together and lowers her eyes from his.

"That you may understand and maybe even accept, but tonight…" He waits until Catherine meets his eyes again.  
"When I was a younger man I had much more empathy. I thought all men were inherently good… that when people did bad things it was simply because they had been mislead or misunderstood. I have learned since that there are people who do bad things for no other reason than to elevate themselves, to dominate and cause pain or simply because they enjoy the suffering of others. Francisco was one of those men." Catherine's hands move to her stomach and she closes her eyes, readying herself for what he will say next even though the words have already left his lips.

"I killed him. You asked me to spare his life but it was not possible for me to do so." Catherine opens her eyes and meets his, her fingernails scratching at the tight surface of her corset.

"How did he die?" Connor's eyebrows come together and he shakes his head as he breathes out her name.

"WildCat…" Catherine balls her hands into fists and squints at him. Why does he insist on buffering her? She must know the truth without any veil or softening no matter how inglorious it is.

"Don't! Just tell me!" She cries out, her voice loud in the enclosed space. Connor stares at her and then gives her a small nod. He makes no further attempt at shielding his words.

"He fell from the window of the library. I had had enough of his disgusting insults to you and the way he treated the other woman. There was no chance of redemption in that man." Catherine exhales and looks at the floor.

"How did he fall?"

"I let go." Catherine raises her head and her eyes tear into Connor's soul before she turns her face away. Connor plunges the rest of the way into the truth of this disastrous night. There is nothing to be gained by keeping it from her.

"The woman, Isabella, she is dead as well."

"Did you kill her?" Catherine's voice is choked and only just above a whisper.

"No." Catherine turns to face him and she doesn't need to ask for Connor to answer her.

"She broke free from Jamie while he held his knife to her. Her throat was cut. Jamie tried to save her but she resisted his help. By the time we got her to the floor she had lost consciousness and it was too late. I regret the unnecessary loss of her life."

"She was no saint!" Catherine's unexpected remark is harsh and clipped.

"She was a woman."

"You heard what Francisco said. She was always his, always part of his greater plan. She was just like him. Cruel… greedy... confident…beautiful." Her hands rise up to the top of her corset, covering her body with her arms. She stares at the wall once more as she finishes her thought.

"She was everything he wanted and the opposite of me." An eternity of unbroken silence spans the unreachable distance between them. Connor wants to tell her she is far more beautiful than Isabella could ever dream of being but it would be inappropriate under the circumstances. Catherine speaks to the wood paneled wall of the Captain's cabin.

"Francisco tried to kill me... before you broke the door down and found us as we were." Connor's eyes glow in the light of the lantern he holds and they slowly narrow at her. Catherine stands straighter by the door under his scrutiny.

"He caught me and was… trying to break my neck." She speaks with almost no inflection. It is as if she is recounting something that had happened to a different person in a different time.

"So you stabbed his leg to get away." Catherine nods and faces Connor, watching the play of emotions that roil beneath the surface of his eyes. They shout out his torment and Catherine is compelled to attempt calming the maelstrom before it kills him.

"You didn't betray me! I had already released you of your promise long before we reached the library; I just hadn't been able to tell you." Connor advances up the stairs toward her so quickly she falls back against the door with a gasp. He raises the lantern close to her face and lifts her chin with the lightest touch of his fingers. He turns her face to the left and looks closely at it. Catherine moves her chin from his touch and turns the other way, showing him the place where Francisco's fingers had dug deeply into her skin. Connor softly strokes the subtle bruising on her jaw and then lowers his hand from her face, letting his fingers run down her neck to her shoulder. There, he tenderly caresses her skin and steps closer to her. For a brief moment, Catherine closes her eyes and embraces the sensation but the metallic smell of blood is strong on his body and she opens her eyes only to discover that the dark stains saturating the front of his clothing are still slightly wet. Who does it belong to? Francisco or Isabella? Catherine can't bear the sight of it or the smell, and bile rises up from her stomach at the knowledge that the blood belongs to someone she knows, or at least someone she thought she knew. The urge to vomit is intense and when Connor raises his hand up to touch her face again she turns her body away from him.

"I need some time… alone." Connor backs away and Catherine takes a deep, shaking breath, avoiding being caught by the hurt she knows resides in his eyes at her actions. His voice is measured, guarded and overly calm when he responds.

"Very well. We have missed the tide tonight so we will wait to set sail tomorrow morning. I need to know whether you are coming with me by then. If you are not, I suggest going to Mrs. Zenger for a safe place to stay." All Catherine can do is nod and when Connor swaps the lantern to his right hand and reaches for the latch of the door, she moves aside. He exits the cabin and as soon as the door is closed, Catherine falls against the wall and covers her mouth with both of her hands. She slides down until she is sitting, choking on her tears, and her shoulders are shaking with her misery. Connor had sought her forgiveness and she had given it, yet she had made him go away from her all the same. The gravity of the night's events crash down on her and she once again finds herself unable to breathe. After some time, she calms down enough to get up unsteadily with the help of the wall and slowly descend the stairs. She untangles herself from her corset and flings it across the room. The two gold rings clatter on the floor and Catherine frantically dives after them, catching them in her fists and drawing them close to her face.

Undone by her sadness, Catherine kneels in the middle of the cabin floor, clenching the rings tightly and allowing everything to wash over and through her. When she regains a semblance of control she stares sightlessly down at her knees until the bloodstained skirt of her shift comes into focus. The sight of it is sickening and she wants it away from her body so she lurches over toward the desk to place the rings down and strips the shift off as quickly as she can. She splashes cold water on her face and rubs Francisco's dried blood off of her leg and hands, washing away the frightful marks of this endless night.

In an effort to calm her heart, she picks up the dress Bethany had so kindly gifted to her and lays the stained portion of it over a rag near the ewer beside the bed. With another rag dipped in water, she wets the stain, rubbing it until the discoloration leaves the fabric and soaks into to the cloth below. She carefully hangs the dress over the back of the chair and repeats the process with the petticoat and finally the shift. Along with the departure of the blood, some of her agitation goes from her as well, leaving her with an overwhelming sense of emptiness, shaded with hues of regret and sorrow that drag on her body. Catherine puts the bag with her things away and leans her bow and quiver against the wall so she can climb under the covers of Connor's bed. The smell of his body lingers on the sheets and she gathers them to her face, breathing him in and unsuccessfully pretending he is there beside her.

Connor stretches and looks out over the bow of the ship when he emerges from the crew's bunk area below deck. The sun hasn't yet risen but it will soon enough. From across the open bay, the breeze carries with it the smell of the sea and the water is mostly calm, the small waves tipped with only the barest hint of froth. It will be a good day to sail but he needs to ready himself for their travel. He crosses the deck of the ship, nodding at the sailors busily preparing for their long trip at sea. Ropes are neatly coiled at the base of each mast, the wheels of the cannons shine with new grease and every man is busy. Many of them, like himself, are dressed only in trousers, though Connor carries the rest of his clothes over his arm. At the door to his cabin he pauses, his hand just touching the latch. When he raises his finger the latch lifts and he sighs in relief that Catherine did not lock him out. Moving stealthily in the darkened space, he approaches the small wardrobe that holds his sparse collection of clothing.

Catherine is in his bed with her back to him and her knees pulled up, the blankets covering her up to just below her bare shoulders. Her position saddens him. After she had begun to trust him, she had almost always slept on her back or her side with her body stretched out. Once they started sleeping together, he would often wake in the night to find her up against him, either draped over him or with her back pressed along his side. Her curled position is exactly the way she used to sleep after he had first found her; the untrusting posture of an abused and frightened woman. Her clothes are draped to dry over his chair and desk, except for her corset, which lies up against the wall on the opposite side of the room. At the wardrobe, he opens the door, wincing when the hinges creak. Catherine stirs in the bed, rounding her shoulders briefly in an attempt to squeeze her body into a smaller shape. Quietly, Connor hangs up his Assassin robes, now cleaned of the blood that had stained them only hours before. He pulls on a soft white shirt and reaches into the wardrobe to take out his blue waistcoat and jacket.

As he tucks his shirt into his pants, Connor watches Catherine breathing in the slow way of deep sleep. Her dark, tousled braid lies across the pillow and dips down onto the bed behind her, its curly end partially undone for lack of a tie in it. He wants to cross to her and mold his body around hers, hold her tight and promise he will never let her go. If only he knew what thoughts moved inside her head he would know the correct path to take. Catherine's life is a complicated one, as is his own, and he hesitates to sway her towards complicating it further by remaining with him. It will only bring her additional stress and he will come home to her time and again, wherever that may be, covered in blood from skirmishes, injured or in need of the kind of comfort that only comes from silence and solitude. He doesn't know how to be a good husband. He can only be the man he is and that is an Assassin. Their time at the cabin and the village had been what he wishes his life could be but that is only a dream. There will never be a time when he can set aside his responsibilities to the Brotherhood. It is too much a part of him and he cannot ask Catherine to accept being second place. It would be unfair to her and exceptionally cruel. Yet she has come so far with him, being adopted into his tribe and becoming a part of his people. Maybe she will return to her sister and marry someone there who will give her the precedence she deserves.

Connor turns away from Catherine and slowly buttons up his waistcoat. He shrugs his jacket up onto his shoulders, settles the collar and secures the two long, turned out edges with their many brass buttons until they lay flat against his chest and stomach. The soft, silk tie that loops around his neck and keeps the heavy, textured fabric of his jacket from chafing against his skin when it becomes stiffened and crystallized from the salty sea spray peeks out from under his tricorne. Connor takes both items down and places his hat on the desk to arrange the tie around his neck and under his collars. When he reaches for his hat the two gold rings Catherine had taken from Francisco's desk the night before catch his eye. One is nestled within the other and Connor reaches down and picks them up together to examine them. The delicate script along the inside of each one reveals how Catherine had known as soon as she had seen them who they belonged to. It is yet another strike of pain she had endured in a night full of difficult experiences.

Connor carefully places the rings back exactly as they had been on the desk. He picks up his boots and takes one last look at Catherine after shutting the wardrobe. Against his better judgment, he lowers his boots back to the floor and steals over to the bed to look at her face. The fingers of her left hand are curled loosely against her lips and a few of the many stray curls that have escaped the confines of her disorderly braid rest against her cheek. She is everything he has ever wanted… Connor rests his left knee on the mattress beside Catherine and leans over her as his fingers move to her curls and smooth them along her hairline. He wonders if this is the last time he will be alone with her for the rest of his life.

Whispered words come from him, a torrent of countless things he wishes he could properly express to her in her language. Even after speaking English for most of his life, the words never sound right when it comes to speaking his heart. So in the language he usually dreams in, he tells her of his love for her, the way his heart aches whenever she is not within his sight or in his arms. He will never stop loving her, no matter what she chooses or how far apart they are and he hopes she knows it in her spirit. If a day comes that she finds another to marry, he will wish that man well and promise to destroy him if he ever hurts her. Above all else, he wants her to be happy, for no other person deserves it more. He apologizes for never being able to give all of himself to her because of his duties, as much as he wishes it to be otherwise. His fingers slowly stroke her cheek and Connor continues. He tells her she is the only truly beautiful thing he has ever had in this ugly world and he will love her until the day he dies, whether that day comes tomorrow or in one hundred years.

Connor is standing on the dock, waving for her to come back, but all Catherine has in her hands is the broken stem of an oar and the tide is carrying her away. He is shouting to her, cupping his hands over his mouth, but no sound reaches her ears. When he is almost out of sight, a tiny figure on a tiny dock far in the distance, his whispered words are carried on the wind to her over the waves. She strains to listen and labors at understanding, but only a few words and phrases make sense. So she listens harder while water seeps into the bottom of the boat and the world around her dissipates into darkness. The whispered words continue as the wind on her face materializes into the warm stroke of calloused fingers on her cheek and the crisp pillowcase under her head.

Catherine's breathing changes while he speaks and when Connor's thoughts are at last exhausted and he leans down to kiss her cheekbone with the lightest touch of his lips, she stops breathing completely. When he moves back from her, her eyes are closed tightly and the edges of her lashes sparkle with unshed tears in the light of the rising sun that penetrates the cracks around the closed shutters over the windows. Does she weep for his words or because he had failed to give her the solitude she had asked of him? When she opens her eyes and turns her head toward him, the tears that had collected in her lashes run down her face and into her hair. She reaches up to his neck and draws him down into her embrace, whispering.

"You make me happy, Ratonhnhake:ton. I couldn't live without you." Connor jolts in her arms and slides his hands beneath her body as she rolls onto her back.

"You heard me? You know what I said?" he murmurs into her hair.

"Some of it… Enough to know that if I leave this ship today it would be the biggest mistake of my life." Catherine's voice cracks and Connor tightens his arms around her, shifting his body until he is lying beside her on the bed.

"I cannot give you what you need… you deserve more than this… than me… something better than the life I lead." Catherine trembles and Connor moves back just enough to see her face. She closes her eyes and kisses his forehead, letting her lips stay pressed to his skin for a long time. She breathes him in with every breath she takes. Her right hand rests along his jaw and Connor's braid rolls along the back of her hand. When she draws away from his warm skin her eyes shift slightly from side to side as she looks into his.

"I don't want a perfect life with anyone else. I want you, and whatever imperfect life comes with you."

"It is the life of an Assassin and that makes me a man of violence. My father was one and his father before, even if we fought on different sides. There is no avoiding or denying it. And it will never change… it is in my blood." Catherine looks into his eyes for a long time before replying, mulling over what that means for their future and gathering her thoughts.

"You told me once that there is so much good in me it could defeat anything bad my child would inherit from its wicked father. I didn't believe you back then but… you're living proof that it's possible. You are not your father. And you're not defined by what you do. I know what's in here." She places her hand on his chest and Connor rests his head down above Catherine's shoulder. He breathes out a long exhale against her skin and says nothing. Catherine isn't surprised at Connor's reluctance to speak further about his father or the darker facets of his life. Even saying what he had must have sapped nearly everything from him. At last he whispers to her.

"It seems nothing I say can keep you from me." Catherine turns her body until she is fully facing him. She shakes her head and strokes her fingers through the hair at the side of his head, hooking his braid behind his ear on one of her repetitions.

"I shouldn't have run last night. I was confused and scared." Connor takes her hand in his and holds it just below their faces.

"Do you still feel that way?"

"A little… but it's going away. I know why you do what you do but I don't think I could ever do it myself. I thought I could be an Assassin... I wanted to fight by your side but I can't." Connor looks intently at Catherine.

"Your words make me happy, WildCat. Being an Assassin is not an easy life and it comes with many hard decisions. The Creed changes all who follow it… and I prefer you as you are." Catherine kisses his fingers and squeezes his hand tightly in hers. They lay in silence, taking comfort in each other's presence as the light continues to build in the cabin.

Eventually, Connor rouses himself and lifts his head from the pillow to kiss Catherine's brow.

"I must rally the crew. The tide is turning."

"How do you know?"

"There is a change in the way the ship moves." Catherine nods, unable to comprehend how he is capable of sensing something so subtle.

"Go then. I'll come up shortly." Connor slides off of the bunk and pulls his tall leather boots on, folding the tops down and brushing off a bit of salt. He reaches to the desk to take up his hat. Turning to Catherine, he makes a sweeping gesture from his chest down to his hip and out to the side with his hand holding the hat.

"How do I look?" Catherine sits up, holding the sheets over her body with one hand.

"Like the grand Captain Connor. But if you don't get on deck you'll be the lazy Captain Layabout." Connor leans down and kisses Catherine quickly before putting his hat on his head and moving toward the door. At the last moment he pauses and turns back to look at Catherine where she sits on the side of his bed. She smiles at him with her head slightly tilted. With a momentary flash of a grin, he reaches up and tucks his braid behind his ear. Catherine raises her head up and laughs softly.

"I love you too." She calls out to him. He smiles at her as he opens the door and exits the room into the bright white light of the morning.

"Captain! There are two boats astern hailing us." Catherine hears one of the crewmen shout from the back of the ship above her head as she opens the door to the captain's cabin. She smoothes her hide tunic down and touches her redone braid hanging over her shoulder. With only two options for clothing, she had debated the merits of each before settling on the comfort of her hide clothing. Besides Dobby, she is the only woman on board and at least if she is wearing pants she will not have to worry about the wind blowing her skirts around and causing a breach in modesty. No one seems to have a problem with Dobby's clothing; on the contrary, more than a few of the crew spare an appreciative glance or two for her rather bold display of cleavage. She doesn't want to provide a lower half for them to ogle as well. Sailors are moving about the ship, busily carrying out their tasks. The sails are taught and full of wind, carrying the Aquila along the water at a rapid clip as the ship breaks through the waves with a confident style. The ropes and pulleys of the rigging creak under the forces of wind and water. Stephane, Duncan and Dobby are standing in the bow of the ship, looking out into the open ocean ahead and talking. The sailors move around them as they heed the voice of Connor when he shouts.

"Reef the sails! I want her at a full stop, now!" Faulkner echoes Connor's orders with a few curses thrown in for good measure from where he stands at the ship's wheel. Catherine climbs the stairs to the stern deck and watches as Connor steps up onto some stacked crates and lifts one foot up onto the rail. He raises a brass telescope to his eye. Two small crafts are rowing away from the pier and faintly, a shout reaches them on the wind. They are too far away to see distinctly how many people are in each boat. As the rigging and sails are loosened and tied down, the ship slows significantly until it is rocking and tilting on the waves. From right beside her, Connor shouts over Catherine's head to the crew.

"Drop anchor!" The Assassins who were on deck make their way over toward Connor as the rattle and clank of the chain precedes the heavy splash of the anchor breaking the surface of the water. Stephane and Duncan walk side by side ahead of Dobby but she is the first to speak up when they have gathered on the other side of Connor along the rail.

"Why are we stopping? We only just got going and we have a deadline."

"I am aware of that, Dobby. See for yourself." Connor hands the telescope down to her and she takes it from him, raising it to her eye and aiming it at the oncoming boats.

"Well I'll be! Looks like they made it after all… with a little more dead weight, too." She hands the telescope to Stephane, who eagerly takes it from her as she huffs and stalks by where Catherine stands. She sniffs at her as she passes and walks rapidly down the stairs and across the deck to climb below to the crew's quarters.

"What's gotten her lady trousers in a bunch?" Duncan laughs.

"The question is, 'what doesn't get them in a bunch?'" Stephane deadpans, handing the telescope along to his fellow Assassin.

"Ah, they've got the new one with them!"

"She's a pretty one, isn't she?"

"I meant the boy, you French Canadian fool! Joseph." Duncan grumbles, his face distorted as he squints through the lens of the telescope.

"Of course you did." Stephane mumbles. The boats creep incrementally closer and Catherine finds herself gripping the railing and leaning forward in an attempt to see who it is.

"Have a look, Catherine." Duncan is leaning forward over the railing and he reaches over in front of Connor's leg with the telescope. Catherine takes it carefully from him with both hands. It is surprisingly heavy and when she brings it to her right eye and closes her left, the pier is suddenly in front of her as if they were still at anchor nearby. The view is indistinct and blurred.

"I can see through it but it's blurry." Connor leans down and moves her hand so it turns the end of the telescope.

"Turn it until it is clear." Suddenly the objects and people on the pier jump into sharp focus. It takes a bit of looking around through the telescope before she finds the boats on the water. In one are four unfamiliar men. Two of them are paddling hard and she can even distinguish the splashes of water that leap from the oars. In the other are four more people: One unfamiliar man, Isaac Young, Sonehso:wa and Anika. The one stranger and Sonehso:wa are paddling that boat. Isaac sits in the middle with his arm around Anika's shoulders. She points toward the Aquila and Isaac nods his head. Catherine's heart leaps in happiness. They must have gotten the second message and come after them! Those other men must be the Albany Assassins!

After what seems like an eternity, the boats come within shouting distance and by then all the Assassins from Boston and New York are leaning over the railing to hurl well meaning insults to their belated brethren. A ladder is thrown down and the first person to be hauled up is Anika. The women embrace and stand off to the side arm in arm as the rest of the Assassins and Sonehso:wa board the ship. A young blond man decides he doesn't want to wait for the ladder and scales the side of the ship, accompanied by the heckling and cheers of those already on board. The few items of baggage are thrown up to the crewmen by the two men who remain in their boats to paddle back to the dock. A small pouch of coins is dropped to each of them for their pains and they both settle into their long trip back to New York with smiles on their faces.

Handshakes and introductions are made and Isaac manages to steal a quick hug from Catherine before Faulkner sends everyone scattering to secure their things wherever they can below decks. Anika and Catherine retreat to some stacked sacks against the very back of the stern deck railing and sit on them as the anchor is hauled up once again and secured to the side of the ship. Connor nods to them as he walks over to the wheel and takes it from Faulkner. Faulkner steps to the side, clasps his hands behind his back and looks over at Connor.

"Go get that wind!" Connor raises his right arm up, clenches his fist in the air and bends his elbow. His shouted command carries over the entire ship.

"Full sail! Give me everything!" The sails unfurl in a rippling fall and catch the wind, the sheets snapping and bellying out tight and full of the ocean breeze. Ropes are reeled in and secured once again and the Aquila slices through the waves on its way south to the warmer waters of the Caribbean.


	21. Aquila

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains possible spoilers to Assassin's Creed 4 Black Flag.

Once the _Aquila_ is clear of the New York harbor, Connor turns her south to begin their long journey to Aveline's meeting place. The strip of land visible on the horizon shrinks until it is only a faint, misty line and then it is gone completely, leaving nothing but a sea reflecting the fiery sunset as it blazes its way down to join the land beyond the edge of sight. Catherine and Anika spend a large portion of time watching the city recede into the distance and recounting the tales of their journeys. When they are done they sit in silence, arm in arm, watching the activities on the ship. The wind blows Connor's and Faulkner's jackets about, pressing them against their legs and billowing them out behind where they stand by the wheel of the ship. Occasionally the sound of voices, both spoken and sung, reach their ears, carrying with it the heartbeat of the ship. Unlike the Assassins who had become regular fixtures on board the _Aquila_ , the two women and Sonehso:wa are the foreigners in this tiny, mobile country.

Catherine offers to show Anika around the ship before the light is completely gone and together they walk towards the steps that lead down from the stern. Sonehso:wa has joined Connor and Faulkner near the wheel and the three men briefly acknowledge the women as they pass. Sonehso:wa reaches his arm towards Catherine and she touches her hand to it briefly, exchanging a smile with him. They had not had a chance to speak since he had arrived and Catherine knows it is his way of telling her he is happy to see her. They leave the men to their talk and descend the steps. The deck swarms with sailors, the lifeblood of any seafaring vessel. They move as a collective, their unified skills keeping the ship travelling smoothly and any shouted commands from Connor are passed among them and carried out speedily.

Isaac is standing with all of the other Assassins, including the men from Albany. He catches sight of the women and waves them over.

"Here are my two lovely girls!" He kisses Anika on the cheek and smiles in a fatherly way at Catherine. Addressing her, his tone becomes more serious.

"They were just filling us in on what happened last night. It seems we missed out on a piece of the action."

"It all seemed to have occurred where it was least expected…" Catherine says with a frown.

"A good thing for you, too, so I'm told. All of Francisco's men were more concerned about keeping the John Street Theatre secured rather than the mansion." Isaac faces Clipper and Dobby for confirmation. Clipper nods.

"There were quite a few of them lurking around there. You might not have made it out safely if they had not been securing the theatre." Catherine touches her right ear where the hole for her earring is reddened and crusted over from when Francisco slammed her onto the desk. She hadn't noticed at the time that the impact had partially ripped her earring out of her lobe. She drops her hand to her side when Dobby looks down at the deck and tightens her already crossed arms.

"More's the pity…" she mumbles. Clipper squints at her and then steps forward to introduce himself to Anika. He takes her hand and starts to raise it to his lips as he had with Catherine.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced… I'm Clipper Wilkinson. You must be Anika. No one told me we would have two..." he glances over at Dobby, who is frowning in his direction.

"… three lovely ladies on board." He kisses her hand and Isaac clears his throat.

"Can't a man kiss a pretty lady's hand around here without getting jumped on?"

"She's married, Clipper…"

"Oh, for the love of Christ…" He trails off for a moment to gesture with both hands at Catherine and then at Anika.

"She's with Connor and he about tore my head off my body and don't tell me you're with this one?" He jerks his head toward Joseph. Anika laughs.

"No, Mr. Wilkinson…"

"Mr…. Don't call me that! Clipper's just fine."

"Clipper, then. I'm married to Sonehso:wa." Anika looks up toward the wheel and Clipper's lips form a thin line as he nods his head in understanding.

"I see. If I grow my hair out and swap my musket for a bow maybe I'll meet a nice lady some day…" he frowns when Stephane drops his hand onto his shoulder.

"I wouldn't count on it!" He roars with laughter and drags him back while the other Assassin's join in the humor at his expense. Joseph takes advantage of the moment to engage Catherine in conversation.

"I hear you stabbed your husband with Connor's knife. That's impressive." Dobby scoffs.

"If you think stabbing someone with a knife is impressive, boy, you've got a lot of learning to do yet before I'll call you an Assassin." Joseph tilts his head, his lanky blond hair falling over one side of his face, and appears confused at Dobby's flippant remark.

"But she managed to fend him off until Connor could get there. I know of no other woman who could do such a thing." Dobby's eyes open wide and she leans toward him menacingly.

"Then you don't know me… I would have just killed him myself instead of creating trouble for someone else." She turns toward Catherine and opens her mouth to elaborate.

"Leave off, Dobby." Isaac steps forward, extending an arm across the space between the three women. Dobby turns and walks toward the stairs leading to the crew deck. Joseph attempts to smooth over the rough edges of the group's conversation.

"I'm still impressed, Catherine. It was a brave thing to do." Duncan agrees with him.

"It was a brave thing, but if we'd managed to get better information, you never would have been put at risk like that. It's shameful, really. Connor's still not happy about it."

"And why should we expect him to be happy with it?" Peter finally speaks up.

"We are not men of incompetence or laziness. We're Assassins. When we do our work the way we are intended to, there is nothing that should ever be left in question. As the situation stands, we're fortunate, indeed, that we're leaving the city in our wake. No doubt there will be an uproar and an investigation into what transpired." Catherine is restless with all the talk of what had happened. None of it sits easy with her.

"Then I suppose I should be grateful that I'm not a suspect in it. A dead woman can't be hanged, after all." Anika takes Catherine's hand and squeezes it.

"Pardon me, gentlemen." Catherine raises her hand towards her face and moves away from the group with Anika quickening her steps to follow. When they reach the bow of the ship, Catherine rests her arms on the railing and leans against the base of the bowsprit, taking several deep breaths to calm herself.

"Are they watching us?" She chokes out to Anika. Anika surreptitiously looks to the side to observe the Assassins they had just left.

"Only Mr. Young. Cat… Are you alright?"

"No! I don't know! I hate being a spectacle. Everyone knows of my private affairs. Do they all know I was raped, too? And Dobby! That irascible… loathsome… _harpy_!" Catherine slaps her hand on the railing and turns her head into the wind. She swipes a tear from her face and Anika steps closer to her.

"Cat. You're only going to get more upset if you keep thinking about it."

"How can I not? That boy Joseph seems to think I'm a heroine for attempting to keep my own husband from breaking my neck! And then Mr. Gansevoort pointing out the uproar over the murders… an investigation… What if it's discovered that we're responsible? It's too much!"

"That won't happen. Ratonhnhake:ton doesn't leave calling cards, does he?" Anika smiles, attempting to initiate the same in Catherine. Catherine stares off towards the darkened horizon and shakes her head, shivering slightly in the coolness of the evening. A sailor approaches them with a lit lantern. Other lanterns are being lit around the ship.

"Pardon me, ladies. I thought ye might want a light." Catherine looks down at the railing, keeping her face hidden in shadow while Anika takes the lantern from him.

"We're grateful for your consideration. Thank you." The sailor touches his hat with a nod and hesitates.

"Yes?" Anika prompts. The sailor touches his hat again nervously.

"The Captain says yer to stay with yer lady friend in 'is cabin an' 'e'll sleep belowdecks."

"Thank you." Once the sailor leaves, Anika takes Catherine by the hand.

"Maybe we should go there now." Catherine nods and together they walk to the cabin.

Connor watches as Catherine and Anika make their way along the deck towards his cabin. Accommodating them there will keep them separate from the rowdy and rather salacious crowd below decks. Dobby is more than capable of handling herself among men but Catherine and Anika would not be as proficient at defending themselves from a sailor's wandering eyes or hands. The offending man would be dealt with harshly but the possibility of punishment could be outweighed by a little too much strong drink and too many days at sea without a woman to ease his lust. Catherine and Anika are not disposed to intentionally giving men a peek at their assets the way Dobby is known to do. Connor is aware of the way she enjoys being provocative only to pull a knife from her person and in a matter of moments have a once bold man begging her to spare his manhood. Everyone who knows her is used to her habits and gives her a wide berth when she is in any state of undress.

The evening wears on into night and Connor has the sails furled and the ship anchored. Faulkner, Sonehso:wa and Connor join the others below deck. True to what Connor is expecting after witnessing the interaction between Catherine and Dobby earlier, Dobby makes certain she readies herself for the night within his view, even being so audacious as to make eye contact with him as she unbuttons her shirt. Connor turns his back and ignores her, choosing to catch up with the Albany Assassins and some of his closer crewmen. Joseph is having a difficult time keeping his attention fixed on their conversations. His eyes repeatedly wander past Connor's shoulder and finally Connor starts to rise to his feet. Jacob, who had joined in the discussion, stands up as well.

"Don't, Connor. I'll handle this." He leaves the group and though the conversation continues, Connor isn't listening to it. Jacob and Dobby can be heard arguing behind him and he can't help but listen since it concerns him.

"Cover yourself. This is a new low, even for you."

"And who are you to tell me what to do? What would your wife think of you right now- so close to another woman?" Dobby smirks and touches the opened portion of her shirt with her finger while raising her hand toward Jacob's chest. He swats her hand away.

"She would be happy I was stopping you from making a further fool of yourself."

"Is that so?" she raises her chin defiantly.

"It is. Or she would have come over here herself to spare me the hassle."

"Maybe I like when men half my age look at me."

"Everyone here knows you're not doing this for the new recruit. You're bitter." Dobby's voice becomes slightly shrill at being called out for her behavior.

"I'll do what I please."

"And so will he. It's his ship and it's his choice. Stop clinging to the past and let him live his life. God knows you've moved on from him several times over…"

"Fuck you, Jacob!" She turns away and starts unlacing her boots.

"Oh, much obliged, Dobby." Jacob grumbles, making his way back to the group. Connor is leaning on his elbows with his forehead resting on his fingertips and his thumbs pressing into the sides of his jaw. Jacob sits down where he had been lounging earlier.

"Well, hopefully that's done with." Connor shakes his head slowly at Jacob's positivity, knowing it is far from over.

Anika and Catherine are also discussing Dobby in Connor's cabin. They sit on the edge of the bunk and tuck their feet up under themselves. Both of the women have changed into their shifts to sleep.

"She hates me; I can see it in her eyes."

"She's just jealous. Ratonhnhake:ton won't leave you for her."

"I know that! But this will be a long voyage in such close quarters unless I can make peace with her somehow." Anika laughs.

"What happened to 'Who cares what anyone else thinks?'? Don't you remember that speech of yours the night before my wedding?" Catherine nods but her expression makes it clear she is unconvinced.

"She acts like I'm some simpering little girl, always in need of rescuing… God, she makes me feel like I'm worthless and nothing but a bother."

"Cat… You aren't worthless."

"I'm no Assassin. I really do try hard to be good enough for him. I don't want him to think he needs to protect me all the time. He didn't need to protect her!"

"Stop this talk! He's not with her anymore; he's with you. He likes that you need him."

"Maybe." Catherine bows her head and Anika rubs her arms.

"My husband has taught me much about the ways of his people… our people. It's a man's responsibility to protect and provide for the women of the tribe. His mother, his wife, any sisters she has, her children and family… It's how they show respect for their authority and what they give in provisions and creating life. How can he show respect in that way for a woman who scorns his protection? Your reliance on him is an honor... to you and to him. Don't take that away from him by fighting it."

"I suppose it would hurt him if I didn't appreciate his concern for me. I just can't help feeling like a burden to everyone here." Anika shakes her head.

"I guarantee that every Assassin on this ship, excluding Dobby, would agree that you're far from a burden. Isaac and Jacob would surely set any dissenter straight on that." Catherine nods at her friend and sister, considering her words. She can't help but fear for the remainder of the trip. Locked in such close quarters with Dobby, there are bound to be times when they will need to communicate or be in each other's presence. Dobby may have lost Connor's affection but she retains a strange, fierce possessiveness of him. Catherine ponders whether she would be like this no matter who Connor chose to be with, as long as it isn't her. Maybe she wants to fight just to reassure herself that she is a better woman for him but Anika has a point. If Connor wants a woman he can care for and protect then Dobby is most definitely not a good match for him and never would be. A smile creeps onto Catherine's lips when she imagines him intervening in a fight to spare Dobby the effort. Anika leans in close and takes Catherine's hands.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Can you imagine what would happen if Ratonhnhake:ton tried to rescue Dobby from a fight? She'd fly into a rage."

"Oh, my God, you're right! What if he gave her flowers?"

"She'd fling them overboard and tell him he's a fool. 'What good could flowers ever do me, Connor? Do you think I'm a princess? A pistol is the way to a real woman's heart!'" They laugh together until Catherine has tears running down her face.

"He gave me a bow at the village."

"It was too early in the season for flowers, Cat!"

The _Aquila_ sails steadily on the winds that cross the ocean, cutting through the water and leaving a long trail of churning foam in her wake. On all sides and as far as can be seen is a vast, scintillating and ever changing stratus of white capped waves. The skies are fair and the warmth in the wind only increases as each day passes on their trip south. At times, the ocean seems to heave with disquiet, tossing the _Aquila_ from the top of one turquoise wave only to send it down into a dark trough and soaring back up again. The crew moves with alacrity among the rigging, seemingly oblivious to the dip and sway of the masts, tightening or loosening sails and ropes according to Connor's commands. On most days, the sea is compliant and the winds are steady enough to speed the _Aquila_ along at a satisfying clip with minimal heaving. Sometimes the spout of a whale can be seen in the distance and the further south they sail, the more often a group of dolphins can be seen playing in the creamy, frothing wake or alongside the ship, leaping above the water and darting beneath only to reappear on the other side.

To Catherine's surprise, she manages to avoid Dobby for the most part in the first week of sailing and when they are forced to be near each other, Catherine makes sure to ignore her disapproving looks and mumbled barbs. Usually, Connor, Sonehso:wa, Anika or at least one of the other Assassins are present but she fears a time when Dobby will get her alone and tear into her. An icy fire is always burning in her light blue eyes and it makes Catherine very nervous.

Connor and Faulkner spend most of their time at the wheel of the _Aquila_ , though they rotate shifts with the other sailors often. Every man is expected to know how to navigate the ship and they are frequently checking their bearing, sounding the depths and recording the weather. Faulkner declines taking any trips up into the rigging but Connor often does, choosing to take on many of the same duties as his crewmen. He has shown Catherine how to hold the wheel and feel for the subtle ways the currents affect the rudder, sending silent indications of change up to the wheel and her hands. Sometimes he encourages her to stand and pilot the _Aquila_ under his supervision and she is beginning to understand how changes in the water and wind can be compensated for or used by the sails to move faster or change direction. Anika tried it once or twice but it was not something that held her interest. Sonehso:wa, on the other hand, finds it all very fascinating and has taken to sailing with enthusiasm. He is eager to learn all that there is to it and his zeal is the cause of Anika's distress. When he isn't at the wheel with Connor or Faulkner, he is high in the rigging with the other sailors, tying off ropes and working as a lookout.

On calm days, when the wind dies down to almost nothing and the sea is as smooth as glass, the _Aquila_ makes little to no progress. So as not to waste any time, Connor runs drills on the ship, practicing manning and loading the cannons and the swivel gun, making quick changes to the sails or encouraging climbing races between the crew and Assassins from the deck to the top of the main mast. Often, Connor will race the winner. Catherine hasn't seen anyone beat him yet though Sonehso:wa and the young Joseph come close.

Catherine and Anika spend much of their time together walking around the deck of the ship, exploring the hold below the crew's quarters or talking with the others onboard when they aren't giving the sailors a break by working on repairing sails. Usually they are translating Sergio's logbooks aloud for one or two of the Assassins taking notes. Isaac is frequently the Assassin taking notes with Anika as she reads from the logbooks. Catherine has noticed that Anika and Isaac have developed an endearing relationship and they frequently spend time chatting together. Isaac and Jacob treat them both like daughters and Faulkner goes out of his way to make sure they are comfortable and happy, calling them both "love."

Near the end of their second full week at sea, Catherine finds herself wandering the ship. She is restless and the last thing she wants to do is spend time on deck. Clouds had rolled in over the ocean like some otherworldly creature, enveloping the sky in a thick cloak of darkness. A steady rain had picked up, battering the _Aquila_ 's decks and soaking everything not under a roof or enclosed by four walls. It sweeps in long lines across the surface of the waves, carried by the wind and streaking the darkened, opaque water with a myriad of dimples and splashes which are quickly consumed by the salty peaks and replenished from the glutted skies. The horizon is a muted grey, making the edges where the sky and ocean meet indistinguishable from each other. Anika had disappeared somewhere with Sonehso:wa and Catherine suspects they may have retreated to the captain's cabin for some time alone. Most of the Assassins are in the crew's quarters, engaged in board games with each other or the crew not on duty. The vessel rolls and pitches with the higher than normal seas and the deeper into the ship Catherine goes, the less she feels it.

There are two levels of gundecks below the crew's quarters and the lower one has only one occupant, a sailor who is busily checking the moving parts of the cannons and inspecting the shot and powder supplies for any signs of dampness. He barely acknowledges Catherine as she continues down to the cargo hold below with her lantern. There, she crosses to where a few of her, Anika's and Sonehso:wa's unused items had been stowed. Her bow is there and she picks it up to check the string. She is about to tuck it back into its place but pauses. The long, center aisle of the cargo hold stretches from one end of the ship to the other. Catherine paces along it and estimates the distance from end to end. At the far wall is a row of crates that reach to the ceiling. They are labeled as steel hull reinforcements. The wood of these crates is thicker and sturdier than the others, most likely to support the weight of such bulky items.

Tying her lantern to a section of rope secured to a rafter with one of the many knots she had been taught, Catherine walks back to the stairs near the center of the cargo area. She takes her quiver and loops it over her body. She has missed the feel of her bow in her hands and as soon as she has it strung, she stretches the string in her grip. When she releases it, the satisfying twang makes her smile. Reaching behind, she takes an arrow. The lantern sways in the air with the ship, casting moving shadows on the walls. Catherine selects the diagonal cross support on one of the crates and aims for it. The sound of the arrow head sinking into the wood is loud in the enclosed space and Catherine freezes, listening for any signs of someone coming to investigate. She hears nothing but the shuffling of the man on the gundeck over her head and when he doesn't come down the stairs to look in on her, she places another arrow onto her bow. She aims and hits the cross piece right beside the first arrow.

Catherine walks to the very farthest point she can reach in the darkened fore of the cargo hold and moves until she has an unobstructed sightline beneath the stairs to the hull plating crates. Her third arrow flies satisfyingly true and she smiles happily. A flash of inspiration strikes her and she uses her remaining arrows to skewer several of the letters marking the crate. Walking forward with her bow held by her side, she reaches the crates to examine her handiwork. A quiet laugh of satisfaction comes from her as she pulls out each of her arrows in turn. After expending her arrow supply twice more, Catherine feels better so she puts her things away and retrieves her lantern. At the top of the stairs, Catherine smiles innocently at the sailor and he nods at her from where he is busily rubbing grease on one of the wheels of a cannon. Two levels up, on the crew deck, everyone is still keeping themselves entertained, though the players and conversers have switched around a bit. A familiar pair of fringed boots is descending from the ship's deck and Catherine waits at the side of the stairs for Connor.

Water drips from his jacket and when he takes of his hat a small river of collected rain water falls to the floor. Though the temperature had steadily gotten warmer and more agreeable, any length of time spent in wet clothing is chilling so Catherine smiles at him and helps him out of his jacket as soon as he rounds the bottom of the stairs.

"I expected you to be upstairs in my cabin."

"I found other things to do." Her eyes sparkle with happiness and she takes his jacket to drape over a nearby chair at one of the few tables to dry. She touches the back of the chair next to it.

"Sit down. I'll be right back!" Planting a quick kiss on his wet cheek when he obeys, she disappears toward the galley. Connor wonders what has gotten her so excited and he smiles after her as he drops his tricorne on the table and extends his legs out in front of him. Owen is sitting across the table and he nods in the direction Catherine had gone.

"Our Captain and Master Assassin… at the mercy of a little woman's commands!" He chuckles softly as Connor's smile falters at his words. Connor is tired from standing in the rain and fighting the capricious wind and waves but he knows Owen's words are only meant in kindness. It is known by all that they are together so why should he pretend innocence? They hadn't been as successful as he would have hoped at hiding their few moments together to hug, kiss or speak clandestinely. On an overcrowded vessel, finding any place private is a challenge, especially as the Captain. At first, the glances they got and the ribbing Connor received afterwards would make him uncomfortable but it had become so routine that he had learned to brush it off. Even Catherine seems to take it in stride now.

"Her orders are not burdensome, Mr. Black, so I do not mind following them." He looks down at the table and another smile threatens to take over his features.

"I'm happy for you, Connor. You deserve a woman like her. She's a sweet thing." The smile that Connor had been holding back escapes him and shows itself when he raises his head to look at Owen. In a sudden moment of openness, Connor shares his agreement and a portion of his inner thoughts with the man; an unusual break from his characteristic restraint.

"She is. I do not know if I deserve her but she seems to be happy with what little I can give."

"You deserve it."Owen nods in the direction of the galley.

"Here she comes. I do believe I'd like to stretch my legs a bit." He smiles at Connor and then gets to his feet just as Catherine reaches the table with a large mug of something hot in her hand.

"Mr. Black, won't you stay with us?"

"No, Cat, I believe I've been sitting too much. Another time?"

"Of course." Catherine sets the mug of tea down in front of Connor beside his hat and hands him a small towel. He takes it gratefully from her to dry his face and neck. Catherine steps behind him and unwinds the soft, white scarf, which is just as sodden as the rest of him, from around his neck and places it over Connor's tricorne. His shoulders are damp, as well as much of his upper back, chest and the tops of his arms. His hair is dripping and Catherine takes the towel from his hands and squeezes sections of his hair in it until she has gotten as much water out as she can. She gives him a quick kiss on the top of his head where his hair is still dry. He smells good; the combination of his wet skin and hair and the subtle addition of sweat from a long day is a comforting experience all its own. She loves his scent and she has missed being able to breathe him in when they would lie together at night. It seems like such a long time ago that they last spent a night in each other's arms. Connor reaches back and takes her warm hand in his to bring her around towards the table. She sits on the edge of the chair that holds his wet jacket, pulling her braid over her shoulder so it won't get wet.

"You did not make yourself any tea." He says as he leans back in the chair. Catherine smiles and squeezes his hand.

"I don't want any. I wasn't outside in the rain all day." Connor reaches for the mug with his unoccupied hand and brings the steaming tea to his mouth for a sip. It warms him and the flavor is soothing. It tastes like she added some mint, one of the herbs they used frequently in their tea at the cabin. Her thoughtfulness means everything to him.

"Are you keeping busy?" He asks her.

"You could say that, yes. Nothing so important as holding the ship on course in a storm, though." Connor smiles at her and takes another sip of his tea. He places the mug on the table, rests his hand on his thigh and closes his eyes for a moment with a sigh. Despite the dampness of his clothes, he finds himself content to enjoy both the company of the woman who cares for him and a warm drink to chase away the chill. Her small fingers stroke the back of his hand and he turns it to return the favor against the soft skin of her wrist. Catherine tips her face down to look at his hand in hers where they rest on her knees and Connor finds her secret smile to be most endearing. He longs to hold her in his arms and feel her soft curls under his fingers. At night he misses her quiet breathing and the little noises she makes in her sleep. The simple, understated things about Catherine had become the facets of her that he loves the greatest: her subtle, sassy rebukes and "Captain" nicknames, the way she looks at him out of the corner of her eye or over her shoulder, the way her hair always has wildness to it no matter how she wears it, their ability to speak to each other with only their eyes… he could go on. For now, he cherishes these few minutes they can share while relatively alone. They will not last long, for someone always finds him, looking for direction or instruction. He frees his hand from hers and grips the seat of her chair, dragging her closer so they can converse quietly and hold hands with ease.

"Who's at the wheel now?"

"Faulkner."

"Will he never rest? He's worse than you are."

"You know he is not an easy man to convince. He is superstitious; he will allow no one else to steer the ship in a storm aside from myself. Having three women on board makes him nervous at times like these."

"He never indicated displeasure at seeing me! Quite the contrary, actually. He's very kind."

"Because he is not rude. He makes concession because you are with me, Anika came with the Albany Assassins and Dobby is an Assassin. He would prefer there to not be women on the ship at all but he has no choice in the matter. If having more control makes him feel better I will allow it."

"There seems to be no end to your duties… Not only are you a Captain, a Kanien'keha:ka warrior, an Assassin, and a leader of men, you're also a peacekeeper. It's very impressive."

"Did you forget about what I am to you?"

"Do you consider that a duty?" Catherine's eyebrows raise in sarcastic alarm.

"It comes with a level of responsibility… but I do not love you out of duty, no." Catherine smiles at Connor's refusal to rise to her prodding.

"Good answer!" she whispers with a laugh.

The next day, when Catherine retreats to the cargo hold to practice her archery, she discovers several handmade targets tacked up around the place. She hits every one, enjoying the challenge and thoroughly entertained by the crew's humor. The sailor she had seen the day before on the gundeck catches her eye when she returns to the crew's quarters and winks at her with a crooked smile before turning to his fellow crewmen. Catherine makes daily use of her new range, occasionally finding an additional target to challenge her, no doubt cooked up by the growing number of sailors who seem to be in on her secret. The newest one she discovers hangs from a rope tied to a support beam and can be set aswing to make it more difficult to hit.

While collecting her arrows on a relatively calm day at sea, a sound makes Catherine turn toward the staircase. Dobby is sitting on the second to last step with her legs stretched out across it and a smug look on her face as she twirls one of Catherine's arrows in her fingers.

"So this is where you scurry off to all the time. Hiding?" she calls out.

"I'm not hiding from anyone, Dobby. I'm simply practicing."

"It seems I was wrong about you. You're not just a young, pretty bedwarmer for our good Captain." Catherine sucks in her breath from where she stands at the far wall. Her throat constricts as her heart begins to race. She has nothing to say to Dobby and all she wants is to be left alone. Dobby stands to start walking up the stairs but she pauses just before her head disappears and crouches down.

"With your silly braids, clothing and little toy bow…you must be his entertainment as well." She snaps the arrow she has in two and drops the pieces from her fingers, letting them fall off the side of the staircase onto some crates below. Catherine grits her teeth and does her best to meet Dobby's eyes without flinching but ends up looking away to stare at the floor. Dobby barks out a short, cynical laugh.

"Aww. Are you going to cry now? Poor princess." Her laughter fades away as she leaves Catherine standing, clutching her remaining arrows and bow in her hands. A growing sense of nausea makes her want to vomit but she swallows hard until the feeling passes. She walks stiffly to the crates under the stairs and reaches up to feel for the broken arrow. After she finds the two halves, she stows her other arrows carefully away with her bow and holds the broken one against her stomach for the trip to the Captain's cabin. On the deck she hides the arrow behind her body and briefly exchanges a glance with Connor as she nears the entrance to his cabin below where he stands at the wheel. She attempts to give him a smile but she knows it must appear forced and fake. He knows her too well for any kind of pretense. Only when she has closed the door does she silently give in to her tears, covering her mouth lest she alert Connor to her distress. The two pieces of the arrow fit perfectly together but they cannot be mended. Connor must have spent hours making each of her fifteen arrows. They are so precious it is as if Dobby had cut off one of her fingers and tossed it overboard to become a snack for a passing fish.

Catherine places the two halves carefully beside each other on top of one of the translated logbooks and lies down on the bed. She stares at the ceiling and wills herself to become calm and unaffected, reminding herself that this is what Dobby wants and she cannot give in to her. With her hands on her stomach, she takes long, deep breaths to slow her heart and mind. The door bursts open and Catherine jumps to her feet with a shriek. Anika kicks the door shut behind her and walks rapidly toward her. Her face is flushed with anger.

"What did she do? The Harpy just came to me and said I might want to go 'comfort the princess like a good little handmaiden.'" Anika indignantly waves her hands in the air in her mockery of Dobby. Catherine slumps down to sit on the edge of the bunk, gesturing to the arrow on the desk.

"She found me practicing." Anika gasps and touches the broken ends of the arrow. She turns her face toward Catherine, her green eyes sparking with anger.

"That's it! I'm telling Ratonhnhake:ton if you don't!"

"No! He has enough to worry about. Ani, don't." A quiet knock sounds on the door and the two women look at each other.

"What if it's him?" Anika whispers. She snatches the broken arrow and slides the pieces under one of the pillows on the bed.

"Come in!" She calls out cheerily. Catherine stands beside Anika with a smile plastered on her face and her hands clasped in front of her. The door opens just enough to admit Sonehso:wa's head.

"Is there a problem? I saw you rush here." Anika and Catherine walk towards him, waving frantically for him to come inside and shut the door.

"What are you two plotting?"

"The death of The Harpy…" Anika mutters. Catherine frowns and shakes her head slightly.

"Nothing quite so drastic. She's finally succeeded in hurting me with more than words." It is Sonehso:wa's turn to frown and he looks carefully at Catherine and then at his wife for an explanation. Anika sighs and faces Catherine.

"Show him, Cat."

"Promise me you won't tell Ratonhnhake:ton. Or anyone." Sonehso:wa's face twists further into a concerned grimace and he leans forward slightly as he waits for his answer.

"I cannot promise such a thing. If you are harmed…" Catherine shakes her head and retrieves the arrow from its hiding place. She holds it out to Sonehso:wa and he takes the pieces in his hands. His dark eyes narrow in anger as he fits the halves together.

"Dobby did this?" His voice is low.

"Indeed she did. Quite the charmer, isn't she? It gets better. She essentially called me his whore and referred to my braids and clan clothing as silly and my bow as a toy." Sonehso:wa shakes his head gravely.

"How is that better? That is much worse." Anika laughs and takes the arrow halves from his hands.

"It was sarcasm, husband. Sometimes the only way to feel better is to make light of a horrible situation. You should know that; you do it all the time!"

"Please keep this between us for now. He doesn't need to know about this." Catherine emphasizes her words with a hand over her heart.

"I will not say anything if that is what you wish but I want to know if it gets worse. It is very disrespectful to destroy the weapon of another man… or woman. You are the sister of my wife and it is my responsibility, more than Ratonhnhake:ton, to protect you." Catherine smiles at him and steps close to give him a light kiss on his cheek.

"Alright." Sonehso:wa nods his head seriously before his usual smirk crosses his face and he turns his other cheek toward Anika, pointing to it expectantly. Anika scoffs and kisses him as well. Sonehso:wa's frown makes it obvious he is disappointed it is just as quick as the one Catherine had given him.

"Get out of here, you greedy flirt!" Anika cries, shooing him towards the door as he laughs and blocks her swats to his backside with his hands.

The _Aquila_ sails onward and the sun bakes down on the deck. The heat is growing steadily in intensity the further south they travel. The air is humid and saturated with a richer briny scent than ever before. Birds dot the sky from time to time and occasionally, an island or two can be seen near the horizon. A blue more vivid and beautiful than Catherine has ever seen spreads around them on all sides. The water is teeming with brightly colored fish of more varieties she could dream of and the once unusual sight of a triangular shark fin has become commonplace and no longer a cause for exclamation. They are entering the third week of June and have been confined on the ship for two and a half weeks with some distance left to travel. The days of no wind and then the storms had delayed their progress so Catherine isn't the only one to be feeling restless. The crew has been up in the rigging far more than usual and Catherine finds herself drawn to the railings of the _Aquila_ more and more when she can find time away from the labors of the Assassins in attempting to pinpoint Sergio's fort's exact location.

Connor sits at his desk in his cabin, pouring over the notes in the margins that Catherine and Anika have made and comparing them to the notes of the Assassins and places marked on the maps of Cuba and the fort. His blue captain's jacket is hanging over the back of the chair and his tricorne sits on one side of the desk. He has the loose sleeves of his white shirt rolled half way up his forearms and the soft tie hangs from the back of his neck. Anika is translating a section of a logbook aloud to Peter and Catherine is leaning over Connor's right shoulder pointing to a place on the map that she is certain Sergio is referencing in one of his books.

"I assure you, when he writes 'castillo' even though it means castle, he's referring to the fort. It has to be here. You said yourself you weren't aware of anyone mentioning the San Pedro de la Roca fort for years." She taps her finger on the southern coast near the eastern end of the island. Connor sighs and sits back in his chair. He rubs his forehead with his fingers and sighs again. Sitting forward, he analyzes the location and speaks quietly, almost to himself.

"It would be a strategic position for incoming slave ships. It has a bay with an access channel deep enough to accommodate vessels of that size…" Catherine rests her hand on the back of the chair and looks down at Connor.

"We've been at this for hours. You could probably benefit from a break." Connor picks up his quill to mark the spot on the map, along with a short notation in his neat hand. When he continues to hold the quill, staring at the map silently and rubbing his eyebrows with the fingers of his left hand, Catherine leans over and rests her hand over his for a moment before deftly stealing the writing implement from between his fingers. He looks up at her and blinks, somewhat surprised, and she can't help smiling at his expression as she taps the ink off the quill into the open well and places it down on the edge of the map.

Anika had trailed off with her reading and she and Peter are watching Connor and Catherine's interactions carefully. She looks up at Peter and raises her eyebrow as she closes the book. Peter nods and takes the book from her, places it on a nearby shelf and gestures to the open door of Connor's cabin. When they start walking out, Catherine looks up from her place next to Connor.

"Where are you going?" she asks. Anika smiles at her and Catherine knows the answer without her having to say anything. Once again, she finds herself incredibly grateful to her sister's compassionate insight and empathy.

"We're taking a break." Peter shrugs his shoulders and follows Anika out the door, shutting it behind him. The latch catches with a metallic click and Connor frowns at his ink-stained fingertip and then looks up at Catherine. She smiles and runs her fingers into Connor's hair. With yet another sigh, Connor's shoulders slump slightly and Catherine draws him close so he is resting the side of his head against her stomach. He brings his right arm around her hips and Catherine slowly strokes his hair and the side of his face. She undoes his ponytail and places the tie on top of the map so she can really delve her fingers into his hair and along his scalp. Knowing he always finds her ministrations relaxing, she uses her fingernails to enhance the sensations and gets a deep, satisfying groan from Connor. He turns in the chair to enclose her with both of his arms and his head tilts downward against her stomach.

"We haven't been able to do this in such a long time. I love your hair and I've missed touching it so..." She whispers to him. Connor looks up at her and his forehead creases slightly as his eyebrows raise.

"We have not been able to do many things that we enjoy. It is the way it has to be for now." Catherine slides her hand down a section of Connor's shiny hair, letting the ends slip from her fingers before resting her palm on his cheek.

"Does it have to be? Right now?" Connor's eyes flick to the door and then he moves his left hand to Catherine's hip. He scrapes the chair back and pulls Catherine closer so she is standing between his knees. A lock of his hair is hanging over his face when he looks up and she smoothes it back. His eyes change right in front of her, their honeyed amber depths becoming darker with affection and longing. He pulls her closer and kisses her just below her breasts. Looking up, he whispers to her.

"It can be however you want it to be." Without a word, Catherine climbs onto him, straddling his lap and the chair. Her fingers slip into Connor's hair again and she leans close to kiss his forehead, keeping her lips against his skin afterwards. He slides his hands slowly up and down her back, following the curves of her spine and shoulders with his fingertips. Catherine takes a deep breath and pulls Connor's head tightly to her chest, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and ducking her face down beside his ear. She tightens her fingers in his hair and on the edge of his waistcoat armhole. Her craving for his touch is intense and she slips deeper into her emotional need, drawing her knees upwards in an attempt to squeeze her body closer to him. Their time apart during their days and weeks at sea had worn her down more than she had realized. With Dobby's cruelty and the constant confinement to only the ship, Catherine had allowed too many dark thoughts to color her view. Watching Connor working so tirelessly both to glean as much information as he can from Sergio's logbooks and to carry his crew, the Assassins and her and Anika safely over the sea, she had begun to see the cracks in his stoic façade widening. His eyes are tired all the time and betray his profound exhaustion but he refuses to rest. Catherine's nights are long without him beside her and, lacking the mutual love and comfort they can give each other, her heart aches for him. After coming through a near collapse of their relationship at the beginning of their journey, not being able to express their affection freely had become a difficult trial. Now that they are together, alone and unafraid of interruption, their overlong, enforced separation is crushing. A small sound escapes her throat as she holds in the tears that threaten to fall. Her body shakes from the effort of clinging to Connor so tightly.

"WildCat…" Connor whispers against her shoulder, and all of Catherine's pent up emotions are pulled from her by his voice. With a broken exhale, she kisses his neck and cheek until Connor turns his face to hers. Their lips meet hungrily. He tightens his hands on her back and returns her embrace with equal strength. It is what she needs. If she can somehow sift into him maybe, just maybe she will feel whole again.

Connor gently eases Catherine back from his body and she makes a distressed noise. Her eyes are huge, shining and beautifully emotive and he brings his right hand up to her face, sliding the backs of his fingers down her cheek lightly. Her love and need for him are like nothing he has ever experienced. The closest thing he can compare it to is the now sadly vague memory of the love his mother had had for him but though the fundamental power behind it is similar, the form Catherine's love takes is altogether different. It is compelling and deep, as blinding as the sun and as black and bottomless as midnight. Catherine covers his hand in both of hers, raising it to her mouth. She kisses the tops of his scarred knuckles with her soft lips and then opens his hand flat. Pressing his palm over her heart, she closes her eyes as he pulls her near to kiss her again. This time their kisses are passionate and drawn out; they savor every moment and sensation as if it will be their last.

Connor lets his hand slide to the side incrementally, gently cupping Catherine's breast. She subtly presses into the contact, telling him she wants his touch everywhere. Her fingers move through his hair and along his necklace, slipping beneath it slightly before matching her other hand as she slides it down the front of his shoulders. Her fingers work at the buttons of his waistcoat while they kiss. The last and lowest button won't cooperate and she makes a frustrated sound against Connor's mouth. She leans back from their kiss to tug on it impatiently and the heavy, brass button breaks free of the thread holding it on the fabric and rolls onto the floor. Catherine's eyebrows shift together with concern.

"Oh…" she murmurs as she tries to lean over and catch it. Connor stops her with a gentle pressure to her side.

"It does not matter." Catherine opens her mouth to protest and Connor shakes his head, quieting her with a look. He leans forward slightly in the chair with an expectant expression on his face.

"Are you going to continue what you have begun?" Catherine is captured by his eyes, so full of everything she cherishes about him. His intensity, compassion, determination and perception draw her toward him but it is his love that both breaks her apart and holds her together. She rests her hands on his opened vest, hooking her thumbs under the thick fabric. It slides off his shoulders easily with a little help from him and he takes it from her hand and lets it drop to the floor. Catherine slowly untucks his loose fitting shirt from his pants and gathers it up the sides of his body and over his head when he raises his arms up. Connor's hair tumbles forward over his face when it falls free of the shirt and Catherine brushes it back with the fingers of her left hand. Her right hand traces over the contours of his face, neck, chest and stomach as she lightly kisses him. In answer to her need to unclothe him, Connor slides his hands down the sides of her waist and over her hips to work up under the edge of her tunic. It bunches over his wrists as he raises his hands up her body. He gives her a little nudge backwards and she sits up to let him pull it over her head.

Connor is looking up at Catherine when he discards her tunic on the floor and cups both of her breasts in his hands. Maintaining eye contact, he leans forward and takes each nipple in turn in his mouth. The resulting sensations are fluid yet electrifyingly powerful and Catherine lets her head fall backwards. She can't help the small noises she makes at every motion of his tongue and the soft way he drags his fingers over her skin. Sliding his hands down and around to her back, he kisses his way up to her neck, leaning her closer and closer until their upper bodies are pressed together. Connor abruptly grasps Catherine around her waist and stands. He only has to carry her a few steps to the bed and he lays her down diagonally across it, kneeling over her. His hands follow the lines of her body, flitting over every bit of it as he makes his way down from her shoulders, over her chest and stomach to her waist. Without hesitating for a moment, he bends to kiss her stomach as he unties her pants and slides them down her legs, backing up and standing to throw them on the floor somewhere in the cabin. He quickly divests himself of his pants and boots, never taking his eyes off of her, and crawls onto the bed over Catherine, administering warm kisses and trailing his fingers over her sensitive skin.

She sighs and shifts her body under his touch when he arrives at her mouth. He gently moves her arms up over her head and ghosts his fingers up and down the soft skin on the underside of them, kissing her so slowly she writhes from time to time. Connor lifts his face from Catherine and watches her breathless, restless movements from his barely there contact. Taking her left wrist in his hand, he brings it to his mouth, kisses it and rubs his thumb lightly over the translucent skin. With her eyes only barely open, she reaches to his face and caresses the side of his jaw down to his chin as he strokes the back of her hand with his fingertips.

Connor's touch is maddeningly erotic and though she wants him inside of her more than anything, the slow, methodic dance of his fingers on her skin is a spell. She can do almost nothing beyond accept it wherever he travels. It is as if every place he touches becomes magnetized to his fingers and she raises that portion of her body toward him, tipping her chin back to give him more of her neck and chest, raising her hips to offer him her stomach and leg. Catherine catches glimpses of him when her eyes aren't closed in ecstasy and he is consuming the sight of her every time. His right hand traces over the upper portion of her inner thigh and makes its way toward her sensitive center of arousal. Catherine can't help but whimper when he slows until he is incrementally running his fingers into and through her slippery desire. Catherine raises her hips to him, silently begging him to enter her and he listens, taking her mouth in a kiss and pushing two fingers deep inside. A burst of exquisite warmth powers its way upward through her body, making the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet tingle. With a cry limited by Connor's mouth, Catherine grips his shoulder and grinds her hips further into his hand.

He continues his unhurried, magnificent torture of her body, kissing her neck, shoulders and breasts, tasting her nipples while rhythmically stroking his fingers inside her and leaving her writhing and mewling into his neck and shoulder. Connor sits back to watch her when he moves his fingers rapidly inside her, causing her to twist and arch her body enticingly. The building tension spills over into a climax that makes her tremble and turn her face into the pillow to muffle her near-scream of release. Connor holds his fingers as deep inside as he can while her muscles spasm and only removes them when they eventually cease and she lies weak and breathless beneath him. Connor doesn't give her any time to recover. He kisses her, slipping his fingers through her wetness and moving until he is positioned between her legs. With only the tip of him parting her slick folds, he pauses and Catherine becomes nearly frantic.

"Ratonhnhake:ton, please! I need you!" Catherine cries in a whisper through clenched teeth as she grasps at his shoulders and presses her feet and toes to the backs of his calves in an attempt to bring him closer. Connor's self control wavers. He wants to keep things at a slow pace and draw out her pleasure. With more patience than he thought he had remaining, he pushes gradually into her welcoming warmth. As soon as he does, Catherine throws her head back and tightens her legs around him until her hips lift from the bed. Everything she does heightens his arousal further so he maintains a steady regularity to his movement to make their shared pleasure last.

Catherine is in an agony of bliss. She has already peaked once and is well into a second, slower burn. It is as if these weeks spent apart had been building up her desire incrementally until this moment when it is emanating from her with no way of stopping it. Her fingers dig into Connor's skin and it isn't enough. She pulls him into their kisses until his teeth scrape her lips but she wants more. He moves to her breasts and takes a nipple into his mouth as he changes his movement to long, deep strokes.

"I want this to last…" Connor whispers when he lifts his face from her breast where she had been holding him by two fistfuls of his disheveled hair. Catherine realizes she had been murmuring garbled pleas. She answers him with a shaky nod and Connor is overwhelmed by the force behind her eyes and the tension in her body as she clings to him. Her need is intensely arousing and he lets go of a little more restraint. He gives her all of him until he reaches her depth and then gives it all again. Only quiet mewls amid louder gasps escape her and Connor watches her face, enraptured. With his other hand under her hip, he holds her steady. When the first deep tightening of her begins he rapidly quickens his pace until he has to lower his face onto her shoulder to contain the voice of his climax.

Finally, finally, Connor fills her completely and it is at last the satisfying unity Catherine had been craving. Some of his thrusts are so deep they are painful but the hurt is lost completely in the rising pleasure that is going to burst from her any moment. When it does she throws her head back and bites down on the scream she wants to unleash. As the tide of her body's pleasure ebbs, her arms fall to the mattress and only the rush of their heavy breathing fills the air. Connor withdraws from her and collapses to the side and then onto his back, taking Catherine with him. They slowly recover their senses together. Connor strokes Catherine's arm with one hand and the side of her head with the other, smoothing back the stray curls that had loosened themselves from her braid.

"I don't want to go back out there." She whispers, when they have lain in silence for some time. Connor rests his hand on her arm just beneath her shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly.

"It will not be for much longer. We are among the islands now and once we arrive at Heneagua you can get off the ship."

"Is it safe?" Connor runs his hand down Catherine's braid, letting the end slip from his fingers to fall against her side. He repetitively performs the motion as he speaks.

"My grandfather used to use the island as his base of operations because of the secrecy of its location and the difficulty of navigating into the harbor. The island is an Assassin outpost and there is a small village there. I have only been there once before but I am certain you will find it comfortable. It is a safe, defensible location and it will suit our purposes well."

"I look forward to it then." Catherine sighs and turns her face into a comfortable place beneath Connor's chin.

"And I look forward to seeing you like this more often." Catherine laughs against Connor's chest, tightening her arms and legs against his sides in a hug.

"Unclothed and in your bed?"

"No. Well, yes. But I meant happy… at ease." He sounds flustered, as if he had not just spent a considerable amount of time being intimate with her. He strokes his finger on the side of her face and Catherine kisses it when he reaches her lips.

"I knew what you meant. You're just easy to tease, Captain Ingenuous!" Connor merely makes a humorously indignant sound. Catherine's giggles turn into relentless laughing at his perturbed expression. She sits up on top of him to cup his face in her hands and kiss his nose. When she doesn't get a reaction from him she slaps his chest just hard enough to make a loud noise.

"Stop being such a killjoy!" Only then does Connor smile and take Catherine by her hips to roll her over onto the bed. Before she can hold it in she screams with laughter and kicks her feet as he tickles her stomach. She is so happy she doesn't care who hears.

The sound of men shouting and Connor's voice right over their heads wakes Catherine and Anika only two days later. It is early and the sun is only just breaking the horizon and coloring the sky. Catherine vaguely recalls the anchor being raised while it was still black outside. Often, when Connor had been unable to sleep he had sailed the ship with only a small crew at low speeds just to continue making progress in the night. This time, the sound of feet pounding on deck and Faulkner cursing at the sailors must mean the island, their destination, has been spotted. Anika leaps out of bed first, followed quickly by Catherine and they scramble to dress and rebraid their hair. Like excited children, they rush to the door of the cabin and hurry through it. The Assassins are gathered near the cabin door and almost every sailor on the ship is on deck, in the rigging or leaning over the railings. Two men are up on the platform that tops the main mast. They both hold spyglasses as they look to the island ahead. Connor's voice carries from his place at the wheel.

"Leadsman, what is the depth?"

"By the mark, seventeen fathoms, Captain." A sailor standing outside the railing on a small ridge shouts from where he holds a thin rope with markings tied to it at intervals. Connor raises his head to shout out towards all his sailors who wait in their places for his orders.

"Slow her down, men! Carefully, now!" Sailors quickly tie down sails and coil ropes, slowing the _Aquila_ 's speed drastically.

This is the first time they have travelled so close to an island and Catherine and Anika are swept up in excitement as the _Aquila_ continues to voyage closer to it. Waves crash against reef and rock alike in boiling blue turbulence streaked with the white of foam and leaping spray. The rocky hazards are scattered copiously around the island and submerge their dangerous reaches far into the surrounding waters, waiting for unwary ships to wreck upon their rugged surfaces. The island appears to be an unbroken, rocky landscape, densely covered in waving palm trees and green, low growing brush.

"Leadsman!" Connor calls out toward the man with the rope.

"By the mark, fifteen fathoms!" The _Aquila_ slows further and when Catherine and Anika find a place by the railing that isn't in anyone's way, they can see some of the submerged rocks looming under the crystal clear waves. The depth changes rapidly beneath the water, creating a light and dark distribution of blue and turquoise that spreads off in curving and jagged patterns in all directions. Another man at the front of the vessel shouts back to Connor.

"Captain, reefs dead ahead! Turn her four points starboard." Connor makes the requisite adjustment with the wheel, bracing his body with his legs as the ship is slow to make the turn and the rudder fights his hold.

"By the deep, eight fathoms! Captain, we're coming into the shallows!"

"Slow her down, men, or we'll be swimming in from here!" Faulkner shouts at the sailors.

"By the mark, five fathoms!" The _Aquila_ pitches briefly as a large wave surges over one of the reefs and hits her at an angle. Catherine grips the railing and turns her face away from the spray that lifts along the side of the ship.

"Captain, two points to starboard! Two points to starboard!" Slowly, the _Aquila_ turns further until she is almost parallel to the island instead of heading straight for it, following the channel between the reefs. Only the sound of the waves and wind in the sails can be heard. Tension is high with everyone and all are holding their breath and dreading the jarring scrape of wood meeting the sharp edges of rock or coral.

"By the deep, four fathoms!"

"A turn to port coming ahead, Captain…" All are silent and waiting as the moments stretch on.

"Hard to port! Hard to port!" Catherine watches as Connor spins the wheel, his entire body moving smoothly with the motion of his arms. The _Aquila_ pivots into the curve of the channel.

"Leadsman!" Connor shouts from his tense position at the wheel.

"By the mark, three fathoms. Three fathoms…. Holding at three." A minute grating under Catherine's feet makes her grip the rail and cast her eyes over the seamen, some of whom run to the starboard side of the ship to peer over. The underwater rocks are right up against the ship's hull. Faulkner bangs his fist on the railing with an angry growl next to Connor and Catherine could swear he glances in her and Anika's direction for just a moment. The grating stops as suddenly as it began and Catherine breathes again.

"The channel widens ahead, Captain, turn her toward the island!"

"By the deep, six fathoms… seven… We're clear, Captain." A cheer goes up from the sailors that breaks the tension for everyone on the ship.

"Give me half sail, men. Take her in and we will assess the damage when we dock." The _Aquila_ picks up speed and Connor turns her in towards the island once more. Several sailors run below decks, no doubt to check for any water coming into the hold. The channel carries them among the palms and foliage. A multitude of brightly colored birds scatter into the greenery as the _Aquila_ passes and some long legged pink birds with large black beaks raise their snakelike necks upward to watch them pass. Their passage narrows and winds lazily for a short time before opening up into a wide, blue bay of calm water. Catherine is surprised to see a large dock protruding from the bay's shore and another ship already tied up at it. A scattering of thatch roofed structures dot the hillside and a palatial estate caps the top of it, its windows reflecting the bright sunlight and verdant surroundings. Sprawling, pale walls and steps rise up from the paths below and draw the eye upwards towards the sky. Vines covered in fuchsia blossoms grow up the stone walls and creep onto the walls of the house.

"Reef the sails! We warp in from here." The _Aquila_ has been noticed by the people on the island and a dinghy is paddled out toward them as they come to a slow stop. Sonehso:wa climbs down from his place where he had been assisting the sailors in their duties to join Anika and Catherine. Huge coils of ropes are thrown down to the men in the dinghy and they paddle towards the docks, letting the ropes run out behind them. The ropes are distributed to lines of men on the dock and they pull them taught. Nothing seems to happen for a moment but then the _Aquila_ slowly starts to move sideways toward the pier. Several minutes later, they are much closer and the anchor is dropped. The men tie the ship to the dock in several places, securing her fast. A long ramp is lowered from the side of the _Aquila_.

Connor has his hand on Faulkner's shoulder when two of the sailors who had gone belowdecks to inspect the holds finish their report and leave them. Both men are nodding and Faulkner slaps Connor's side. Connor turns from his first mate and walks away from the wheel to quickly descend the steps towards the women. He is about to speak to them when a woman's low, rich voice, heavily accented with French overtones, carries over the sounds of the crew tightening up the ship for its stay at Heneagua.

"I was beginning to wonder if you would be late, Connor." A woman with darker skin than Sonehso:wa, dressed in a mostly black outfit with leather armor covering her shoulders and tall boots on her legs stands with her arms crossed on the ramp. Her tricorne is pulled low, partially covering her face but it doesn't hide her exotic beauty. Several long braids are tied together with a red tie and hang over one shoulder. Two sashes, one red with gold patterns and one solid red are tied around her waist and angled so they sit lower on her right hip. She wears a leather belt over them with the same unique buckle Connor wears with his Assassin garb. Connor turns toward her and dips his head in respectful acknowledgement of her.

"We had some delays. It is good to see you are well, Aveline." She uncrosses her arms and steps onto the boat. There is a graceful purpose to her gait as she walks toward them and both sailors and Assassins part before her confident bearing.

"And you. Welcome back to Inagua. It has been some time since you've been here, from what I understand. Years."

"I do not frequent these waters as I once had. This territory belonged to my grandfather and now it is yours. I do not wish to interfere in your… jurisdiction." Aveline laughs, her melodic voice making many heads turn in her direction.

"It isn't really mine, either. I leave that to the Assassins who live on their ships and call this place home. I prefer my feet to be on solid ground." She turns her attention from Connor and directs it to Catherine, Anika and Sonehso:wa. Looking at each of them in turn, she smiles and spreads her hands out.

"Welcome to Inagua. I'm Aveline de Grandpre." Connor gestures to Catherine.

"This is Catherine Parry, the woman formerly married to the son of the man we seek."

"A pleasure and an honor to meet you, Miss de Grandpre." Catherine lowers her face gracefully. Aveline laughs once more, with a shake of her head and a wave of her hand.

"Please, call me Aveline. Formality has no place here, among friends." Catherine smiles at her kindness.

"You have quite an impressive reputation, Aveline. Connor speaks highly of you."

"I'm happy to hear that, _ma cherie_ … as he should!" Aveline says with a smile and a narrow eyed smirk. Connor ignores her sass and continues with his introductions.

"Anika Reitz and her husband Sonehso:wa of the Deer Clan." Sonehso:wa nods and stands tall behind his wife as she bows her head similarly to the way Catherine had.

"I believe I can speak for us all in saying we have looked forward to this meeting for some time. It's indeed a great pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you! I'm pleased to make your acquaintance as well. Now that introductions are over, let me show you where you will be staying and then we can get down to business." She turns to walk toward the ramp and everyone follows her. Anika turns to Connor questioningly.

"I thought you said we were going to a place called Heneagua?" Aveline laughs and looks over her shoulder briefly.

"Connor is a great one for using the words and names of the local peoples. Inagua is Heneagua, _ma cherie_. They are one and the same; different names for one island." Catherine smiles and takes Connor's elbow to walk beside him down the ramp. He glances down at her and she squeezes his arm.

"I should have known…" she whispers.


	22. Discovery

Aveline paces the sunny map room as she speaks with the gathered Assassins.

"I couldn't risk this information falling into the wrong hands. It was bad enough that I didn't send a new cipher along before sending my other messages but speed was imperative in this case. Something big is happening. Connor, you know I seek to abolish slavery, as you do. This man… Sergio Martinez. His name is being heard more and more both in the slave markets of Cuba and in my area of the mainland. I've captured and interrogated men in his employ and they all say the same thing. He's aiming to become the largest importer of slaves into the colonies, using Cuba as his main base!"

"Forgive me, Aveline, but we know much of this already." Connor tilts his head slightly and covers his left hand with his right in front of his body disarmingly yet it is clear he is impatient by the way he shifts his feet.

"That's only what we discovered in the beginning, Connor." Aveline slowly moves her arms outward from her body in a wide arc that encompasses the entire room.

"It's much broader than that. He's taken over a fort, as you know. Not only is he seeking to enter the business of slaving, it seems he's militarizing his location. It could be a defensive move or he could be planning something else. With the fortune he's taken from you, as I understand…" Aveline looks in Catherine's direction, pausing for only a moment until Catherine nods her head quickly under her remarkable hazel gaze.

"… he has everything he needs to possibly take over the market and defend his position. He's greased the palms of law enforcement, trade officials and port masters in Cuba as well as in several large ports in New Orleans. They all now turn a blind eye to suspicious transactions. There could be other locations where this is happening as well. Even the Spanish outpost in Havana is compromised now that the Governor is gone. He was one of us and had made positive changes that have all been undone since he left. Crime has been rising steadily ever since and who knows what kinds of questionable behavior has been ignored there?" Connor crosses his arms and stares at the floor as he thinks over Aveline's information. He raises his head and gestures with one hand.

"Have slaving activities increased through Havana yet?"

"Not yet but no ships have arrived from the Fever Coast in some months."

"You said he is militarizing this fort. How many men does he have?"

"That I could not get the answer to. It seems even Martinez's men don't have that information… I ensured they yielded all they knew."

"Do you know the location of the fort he is using?"

"I'm fairly certain I do. It's the Castillo del Morro in Santiago de Cuba." Aveline walks to a large desk in front of three huge, floor to ceiling arched windows and unrolls a large map of Cuba. Everyone moves closer to gather around it.

"Here." She points to a city on the southern coast of Cuba. Connor leans closer to confirm the location.

"According to the maps we obtained from the Martinez estate in New York, that place is called Fort San Pedro de la Roca." Aveline's rich, musical laugh fills the room.

"There you go again with yet another name for the same place! Call it what you will, Martinez has set up his business there and that's where we'll get our answers." She loudly taps her fingertip on the marked location for emphasis. Connor stands upright and lifts his chin with a preoccupied frown.

"He knows my ship."

"Then we'll take my hired one.  _L'Etoile Polaire_  is smaller and can more easily navigate the treacherous channels around this island." Connor looks down at the map and studies it for a moment.

"It will take at least two days or more of steady sailing to travel there."

"Two days at most. My ship may be smaller but it's faster than the  _Aquila_." Aveline's full lips quirk slightly in a brief smile when Connor crosses his arms.

"Very well. We should leave in the morning so we can scout by nightfall of the second day."

"I agree." Aveline looks around at the gathered Assassins and nods her head approvingly.

"I hope you'll all join me for dinner tonight. Gerald was so kind as to arrange with the islanders for a meal to be prepared." She smiles over at a quiet, rather bookish looking man who had until then maintained a respectful distance from the group. He smiles back at Aveline as she continues speaking and it is clear he dotes on her.

"I want to get to know you all before we leave." Aveline makes eye contact with Catherine.

"And I want to know everything you know about Martinez." Catherine nods nervously. Aveline is clearly a woman of action and has such a powerful presence even Dobby is subdued when in such close proximity. It is obvious why she is the leader of her band of Assassins. Though Aveline appears to be a very gracious Assassin, she emanates a forceful, proud confidence nonetheless. Her attractive, womanly features are deceptively innocuous, for she speaks of interrogation and assassinations as if remarking on something as mundane as the weather. Catherine finds her terrifyingly beautiful and not a woman to be crossed under any circumstances.

As everyone disperses from the room, Aveline makes her way over to Catherine and Anika. Together, they walk out of the room and Aveline surprises them by not asking immediately about Sergio.

"Please, tell me about yourselves. I want to get to know you both. It isn't very often I get to spend time with women among the Brotherhood." Her invitation is warm and as they walk, the women open up to her with their stories.

They wander through the many corridors and large, bright common areas of the estate. The open windows let in cool ocean breezes as well as the distant echoes of metallic rolling and clinking as the  _Aquila_ 's cannons are moved one by one to the port side to slowly unbalance the ship in the water. Outside, the women pause to watch the process from a covered patio overlooking the cove. Every cannon moved heels the ship a little farther until it appears to lie partly on its side.

The hilltop view of the water and surrounding area is spectacular. Between citrus trees bearing brightly colored oranges, lemonsand limes, the water of the lagoon far below is a deep blue green and shoals of darker blue fish can be seen flitting and flashing their silvery sides beneath the surface. Just barely visible beyond the waving tops of the palm trees and swooping gulls is the bottomless turquoise of the surrounding ocean and wild waves they had so recently come from. Other than the occasional shout, rasping scrape or hammering that carries to them so high up, the only additional sounds are the wind rushing through the thick, lush greenery, faint waves washing on a distant shore and the many calls and cries of birds.

"It doesn't surprise me you couldn't get all the information you needed from Sergio's men." Catherine looks at the view as she speaks to Aveline, changing the subject to more important matters.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"He was always fairly secretive when I knew him. He rarely said a word more than was necessary to make his point and he never ever made small talk. Often, I wondered if he disapproved of me and that was why he rarely spoke to me. It seems I was very mistaken in thinking it was mere disapproval he had. He wanted me dead so he could get my inheritance. I was an obstacle, a stepping stone… nothing more. I married his son and lived in his house but I never knew, never suspected that they would do something so awful to me. That they would have planned it all along… for years. I was so naïve and I lacked the courage to speak up before it was too late." Catherine grips the railing in front of her and lowers her head with a sigh. Anika touches her hand lightly and glances at Aveline, who smiles at her with a small nod and stands in respectful silence for Catherine's distress. After taking a deep breath, Catherine tips her head up to the sky and blinks a few times to dispel her tears. She wonders if there will ever be a time when speaking of her experiences will no longer dredge up such painful emotions and self loathing. Looking out into the distance, she continues.

"My husband hid everything under a guise of perfection. It was so complete that I actually defended him when Connor first told me his suspicions… I'm ashamed to admit that I slapped him for his accusation, only to realize he'd been right about Francisco all along. But neither one of us knew just how corrupt he and his father were until recently. It wouldn't surprise me if Francisco was the only other person who knew all of Sergio's plans." Aveline steps closer while she is talking and gives Catherine a raised eyebrow at her mention of striking Connor.

"You're braver than you admit, if you slapped Connor! I wouldn't dare… well, maybe if he got too smart with me! Nevertheless, what you say fits with the information we extracted from Sergio's men in Havana and New Orleans. One man knew one thing, another knew a little more or an additional detail. A smart move, I admit. That way, it makes it difficult for someone like me to find out the whole of it." Aveline clenches her fist in the air momentarily before her in a gripping motion.

"Hopefully we'll find out all we need to know in the coming days. We couldn't have done this without you, Catherine and I appreciate your efforts. Your pain is not for nothing." Catherine nods stoically at Aveline's prediction and tamps down the anxiety that fills her. She knows her place is here, away from danger, and she won't attempt to change that. The promise she made to obey Connor's direction when it comes to her safety is a tight band around her chest and she knows it would end up hurting them both if she fights against it. She would only be a hindrance and if she doesn't learn now to get used to letting him do what he does it will surely get more difficult in the future.

Connor uses the remaining portion of the day to check on the crew's progress of examining the  _Aquila_  for damage from their earlier run-in with the outlying rocks of the channel. With no available beach suitable for careening, the ship had been moved and anchored out in the harbor away from the dock and it now lists far to port in the water with her starboard side elevated upwards. Several sailors are on the exposed side of the  _Aquila_ , scraping off accumulated barnacles. Faulkner stands on the dock and Connor joins him.

"What is the damage, Mister Faulkner?"

"We're lucky, boy. The hull is intact but I figure since we're here we might as well clean 'er up and give 'er some fresh paint."

"That is good news and a good idea. I will be leaving with Aveline on the morning high tide to travel to Cuba. That will give the men plenty of time for repairs on the ship."

"So yer goin' to Cuba after all? How many guns has that pitiful little schooner got?" Faulkner laughs loudly and bends forward at the waist in his mirth.

"You know it is not built for combat. If that becomes necessary we will need to use the  _Aquila_. I hope that will not be the case but keep that in mind. I need her ready for battle. For now, we scout." Connor's serious tone steadies Faulkner and he regains his composure.

"Aye, Captain. I'll have 'er ready for a fight in no time."

"Thank you." Faulkner shakes his head as he looks over at Connor where he stands with his hands behind his back and his head held high. He is nothing if not formal yet Faulkner is able to see past his calm, unflappable demeanor to the boy he met so many years ago. He is still in there. A twitch of his fingers where they are clasped at the base of his spine, the way he lifts his toes in his boots and furrows his brow just the tiniest bit… He is a proud young man hiding an uncertain boy inside but a good captain nonetheless. Faulkner would follow him no matter where he chooses to go because despite his fears he is determined and motivated by a good heart. And that girl, Catherine… He loves her with a will. At least he has chosen a woman who loves him back this time.

Dinner is a multifaceted affair, with conversation ranging from tactics and weapons to the various types of native dishes served, the weather on the island and the treacherous nature of its cove access. Speckled among this is a hearty serving of laughter and a fair amount of good natured ribbing. The food proves to be both tasty and filling, comprised mostly of fresh fish and shellfish, tropical fruits and cassava. Each dish is distinctive in flavor, bursting with citrus, spices and fiery hot peppers.

The two Assassins Aveline brought with her are both freed slaves; Josiah, a tall, strapping man with skin as black as night and scars on his arms and peeking from under his collar. His hair hangs in dozens of ropes from his head, many of which are decorated with colored strings or gold wire. Ambrose is a smaller built man but no less dark skinned, with sinewy muscles, a bald head and nimble hands. They were both born to a life of slavery on plantations outside of New Orleans. Ambrose was one of the plantation owner's wife's slaves and he was lucky enough to receive an education in math, English and writing. Josiah, though, was much less fortunate, forced into hard labor in the fields. His large heart often moved him to take the blame and punishment for accidents or mistakes made by younger, weaker or elderly fellow slaves in order to spare them the whipping they would have had to endure otherwise. Despite his brutal upbringing, Josiah is the one who finds humor most often, sharing a resonant, baritone laugh that is both infectious and warm. Ambrose is far more reserved, only rarely showing his teeth when he smiles but his eyes are deep and soulful, sad yet determined, reflecting a keenness of mind and shrewd, tactical prowess.

Faulkner and the young Captain and First Mate of  _L'Etoile Polaire_ , the LaFitte brothers, have a friendly battle on the side, exchanging backhanded compliments and open ended threats about seafaring prowess, years of experience, age in general and loyalty to the Assassin Brotherhood. Jean is the younger of the two brothers yet at the tender age of 19, he captains Aveline's ship. He is a brash, outspoken young man and cares not about how people perceive him. His dress reflects this, for he fancies himself as a pirate and clothes himself in an overly stylish, pompous manner. He constantly twirls the ends of his thin mustache into points and the more he drinks, the pinker his cheeks get. His brother Pierre is six years older. He, too has a mustache, but it is much thicker and he allows his curly hair to fall freely to his shoulders with no attempt to contain its somewhat buoyant appearance. In contrast to his younger sibling, he chooses to keep himself a little less orderly in his dress but he has a sly look about him and a quiet, scathing wit. He often leaves Faulkner sputtering and attempting to reel in his temper after Jean has fanned the flames of it with his wild claims to fame and sassy undercuts about Faulkner's broken history with alcohol and the  _Aquila_  in the past. The three men become the entertainment for the evening as their banter spills over into one of the greatrooms where everyone gathers to enjoy some of the local cane rum.

Connor enters the small guest house he and Catherine had been given after a final consultation with the Assassins in preparation for their early start the next morning. As the only other Assassin of high rank present, Aveline had insisted they take the cottage and refused to listen to his insistence that one of the many bedrooms that had been built into a recent renovation and expansion of the estate would be sufficient. Aveline had already set herself up in the main floor bedroom. Anika and Sonehso:wa had been placed in the largest of the new bedrooms and the rest of the Assassins had dispersed among the others. Faulkner hadn't been opposed to the luxury of a private room in the estate to sleep in but the rest of the sailors had preferred staying at the small inn where they would have access to willing women and plentiful quantities of rum.

Catherine sets the finely wrought silver bird she had been examining back onto the small table next to the bed. A lantern that shares the limited surface lights the room fairly brightly, casting shadows behind the hodgepodge collection of art, sculpture, potted banana palms and various nautical wares that decorate the room. It illuminates the right side of Catherine's face and her loose hair where she is sitting with her back against the dark headboard and her knees drawn up. The light also highlights how tired Connor looks as he begins to undress for the night. Catherine gets up and folds his clothes neatly for him, stacking them on a nearby chair and draping his captain's coat over the back. She has already laid out his Assassin robes on a trunk that sits against the far wall.

"Is everything in order for tomorrow?"

"I believe so. I just hope we will find what we seek. Maybe we can end this without entering open conflict." He sits down on the edge of the bed and looks up at Catherine. He is unaccustomed to being so candid with anyone about the things that consume him during missions but he finds it a relief to give voice to them tonight. Catherine is neither judgmental of his concerns nor does she make a weepy show of her fears. Instead, she supports him despite the worry he knows is in her heart. She is a gift and Connor is grateful to have found her, however unconventional their coexistence is at the moment. Catherine steps close, cups his face in her hands and bends to kiss his forehead before resting one hand on his bare shoulder and sitting beside him.

"You have all your men chosen for the trip. Anika is a bit nervous that you're taking Sonehso:wa but he could give everyone other than you a lesson in moving on silent feet!"

"He has the makings of a Master Assassin in him."

"Like you?" Catherine slides her fingers down the back of his arm and Connor nods.

"He wants this life, for whatever reason, and I will not turn down an asset… or a friend."

"What about keeping him from harm?"

"I would rather have him train with my men than get injured or killed by ignorance. He is a skilled fighter but I should never have sent him to New York so untrained." Connor looks down at his hands.

"But he returned. And look how happy he and Anika are. He saved her in more ways than one that night. As you have for me." She leans close and kisses his shoulder before standing up and letting her fingers wander over his braid next to his face.

"Come to bed... I need you to hold me tonight." Her softly spoken request is about as close to her begging him not to go as Connor thinks she will give voice to. He compliantly moves to get under the covers and Catherine unties the sheer netting from the bedposts so they fall down, enclosing Connor's half of the bed. After extinguishing the lantern, she unties the netting on her side and climbs in next to him. She moves close to Connor under the cool sheets and fits her body against his right side comfortably with her head on his shoulder. Moonlight illuminates both the netting and sheer, white window curtains that move and shift in the night breeze, making a subtle play of shadows on Connor's face. Catherine traces her fingers over his chest idly, slowly working down to his abdomen and over to the edge of his large scar. She tries not to think about the danger he could face in the near future. In an attempt to dispel her negative thoughts, she reminds herself that he's a leader of men for a reason. He is skilled, competent, confident and strong. Her fingers follow the curving shapes of the muscles on his stomach as she lightly crosses his skin from one side to the other. She can feel the subtle change when she reaches his tattoos. The inked skin is a slightly different texture so she follows the lines of them and finds the mole that marks his side. Connor's breathing is slow and regular but not the breathing of a man going to sleep. He moves his left arm, capturing Catherine's hand gently and guiding it down his body. She finds him aroused and it makes her smile in the darkness.

"Oh? Not as tired as you seem, then?"

"Tired does not mean dead, WildCat. What do you expect when you touch me like that?" Catherine laughs and lightly strokes along the length of him, making him close his eyes and breathe out deeply. She crosses her leg over his stomach and Connor runs his hands up her thighs, slowly gathering her shift up. Catherine pulls it up over her head and discards it on the floor. Connor's lips separate slightly as he looks up at her above him. His fingers follow the lines and curves of her naked body as Catherine leans forward toward him with her hands on either side of his head on the pillow. He tangles his fingers into her hair near the back of her head and gently pulls her close to kiss her. They only stop long enough for her to slide lower so he can enter her.

Catherine's lips are swollen and dark from their kisses and she returns to his waiting mouth for more. They make love slowly and Catherine's curls fall down like a curtain around their faces, tickling their cheeks and finally driving her to sit up and gather it in her hands to twist into a knot. Connor places his hands on her thighs and moves in her, shifting his right hand down the inside of her thigh until he can use his thumb on her. He watches as she holds her hair up with her head tipped backwards, too distracted by the pleasure she is feeling to complete her intended task.

The view of her above him is so enticing that Connor can't resist sitting up and taking her in his arms, tipping her backwards slightly and kissing her breasts. Letting her hair fall down behind her, Catherine drops her arms around his shoulders and moves with him, bringing her knees up and wrapping her legs around his waist. Their touches are tender, almost reverential, and after the breathless heat of their lovemaking has faded neither of them can look away from the other's face, knowing they will be separated by miles of water in only a day.

In the morning, Catherine helps Connor dress in his Assassin robes, buttoning the many brass buttons, tightening the laces of his bracers and smoothing the heavy fabric over his shoulders. When he is fully outfitted and armed with all his weapons, he carefully takes Catherine by her forearms and pulls her close. She can't trust her voice not to betray her worry so she simply steps into his embrace and hugs him tightly around his waist.

"I will return in four days. You and Anika will be safe here with Jamie, Mr. Gansevoort and Mr. Young keeping watch." Catherine nods against his chest and heaves a quiet sigh, smelling the combined scents of leather, gunpowder, smoke and steel that always permeate his clothes. All she can muster are the most important words she can say. They come from her in a burst.

"I love you! Please come back to me safely..." Connor tightens his arms around her and then moves her away until he can see her face.

"I will always come back to you, WildCat. I love you more than anything." He lightly touches the side of her cheek and then leans down to kiss her tenderly. When at last they must go, Catherine forces herself not to cling to him. Connor ends their lengthy goodbyes with a final kiss to her forehead and Catherine follows him out the door and walks by his side down the winding path to the docks.

There isn't much to be said that hasn't been already when Connor, Sonehso:wa, Aveline, Dobby, Jacob, Clipper, Joseph, Duncan, Josiah, Owen and Ambrose stand on the dock in front of  _L'Etoile Polaire_. When it is time for him to board, Connor moves his hand subtly by his side, grazing his gloved knuckles over the back of Catherine's hand and briefly slipping his fingers between hers when she extends them to prolong the contact. They exchange a long, loaded glance and then he leaves her side to walk up the ramp with Sonehso:wa and join the others. Anika clutches Catherine's arm and presses her lips to her shoulder to contain the small noise that settles in her throat at the sight of her husband leaving. Catherine takes her hand tightly and together they watch as the ramp is taken down, ropes are cast off of the dock to be gathered up and the sails are unfurled to catch the small amount of breeze that reaches into the protected cove. Two small dinghies manned by some of Connor's sailors help tow the two-masted schooner away from the pier, past the  _Aquila_  where it remains heeled hard over to port and out toward the winding passage leading out to the open sea. As soon as  _L'Etoile Polaire_  begins to pick up speed under her own power, the echoing of the sailors' songs die down, the ropes are drawn in and the dinghies return to shore.

Catherine and Anika stand and watch the ship until the view of it is stolen by the rocky outcroppings, waving palm trees and lush foliage of the island. Faulkner wastes no time and has the crew of the  _Aquila_  busily working on the exposed side of the ship when he walks up behind them with his hands clasped neatly at the small of his back.

"Don't you ladies worry about yer men. A scoutin' trip is as easy as a stroll on the beach compared to some scrapes I've seen Connor and his bunch o' fools get into. Somehow they always get their arses back out again unscathed. Pardon me… Connor won't let anythin' happen to yer man, love." He places a reassuring hand on Anika's shoulder and she takes her face from Catherine's arm to give him a weak smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Faulkner. I'm sure you would know best about such things."

"Aye. That I do." He speaks kindly and in a fatherly way that is reassuring to them both. The sun is bright and his eyes sparkle from under his squinting lids, the crow's feet at the sides of his eyes accentuating the aged look of his face. He scratches his bristly beard and stands with his hands behind his back again, keeping a sharp eye on the sailors working on the  _Aquila_  and providing a solid and supportive presence to the women until they excuse themselves to return to the estate.

When they are far enough away to be out of earshot of anyone, Anika stops Catherine.

"What is it? Ani… What's wrong?" Anika's lip trembles and Catherine takes her hands.

"What if Sonehso:wa gets hurt? What if he… doesn't make it back to me?"

"He'll make it back. You heard what Mr. Faulkner said. He's been through everything with Connor for years and I trust his word that he'll make sure Sonehso:wa comes back safely." Anika takes her hands from Catherine's and slowly brings them over her stomach.

"But… I'm pregnant… and he doesn't know yet. I couldn't tell him. I wanted to but I was afraid it would affect his promise to help Ratonhnhake:ton." Catherine stares at Anika's hands on her stomach. With the way she is pressing them to her body, she can clearly see a subtle roundness under them.

"Oh my god, Ani! How long have you known?"

"I've missed two, almost three menses now."

"You must have gotten pregnant at the village!"

"For all I know, it could have happened before then… maybe even from our first time together on our way to you."

"How could I not have noticed? We used to bleed at the same time for years!" Catherine realizes that she had failed to take note of Anika needing to attend to her monthly courses since they had been reunited and it makes her feel like a terrible friend.

"Don't blame yourself. We've both been distracted by everything going on. We haven't had time to see the details. Besides that, we're probably not on the same schedule anymore after what… happened to you." Catherine nods gravely and then smiles at her dear friend.

"Ani! You're going to be a mother! And I'll be an aunt! Of a little Bear!" Anika shakes her head with a smile at the picture of her holding a fuzzy bear cub in her arms instead of an infant. Catherine laughs and takes Anika's face in her hands, kisses her and then embraces her, squeezing her tightly.

"It'll be fine! He'll be back in a few days, you'll see." Anika speaks into the side of Catherine's head as they hug.

"I'm glad you're so confident. I just can't help remembering the time Sergio's men punched and kicked him in Albany. He had the presence of mind to stay where they couldn't get at him easily but they still managed to break his ribs. That injury still pains him sometimes even if he won't admit it." Catherine gives her an extra tight squeeze before stepping back and taking her hands.

"It  _will_  be alright. He's strong and a good fighter. They caught him by surprise then and I know he'll never let that happen again. Even if it's frightening, we need to be strong for them. It can't be easy for them to leave us, either." Anika nods and her lips form a flat line of determination.

"You're right. But I need to tell him when he gets back."

"That's up to you but I'll support you no matter what you decide." They hug again and link arms for the remaining walk up towards the estate.

 

 

The winds are accommodating enough and  _L'Etoile Polaire_  sails swiftly over the sea towards her destination. The schooner certainly does fly faster than the  _Aquila_ , and Connor is confident in Aveline's estimation of their travel time. She isn't far off the mark when, shortly after the sun sets completely on the second day, he joins her at the bow of the ship and raises his spyglass up to assess the shoreline.

"You see the white walls there where the ocean enters an inlet?" Connor makes a noise of acknowledgement. The walls of the fort come to a rounded point at the end of a small, rocky promontory that extends out from the shoreline. A few watchtowers along the wall are capped by rounded roofs and light shines from the windows in them. Three more levels of walls climb the hillside, which is capped by a much larger structure near the top.

"That is Castillo del Morro. The time has come to see if we have the right place, and if so, what can be done about this mess and the man who made it."

"I will destroy him." Aveline lowers her spyglass only to find Connor leaning on the railing and staring off into the darkness at the pinpricks of light coming from the fort. His face is almost without expression aside from a deep crease between his eyebrows but his voice, gravelly with emotion, had betrayed his inner thoughts.

"Connor. This mission isn't about what he did to Catherine. It's about what he aims to do for the slave trade and to find out if he is more than just casually linked to Templar activities."

"It has everything to do with Catherine. It just happens to align with our objectives as well. Sergio took from her to create whatever we will find in there. Then he sent her off to be abused and murdered by his men. It is my fault this happened to her, Aveline, so it is my responsibility to end it." Aveline grabs Connor's arm and spins him away from the railing. She steps closer to him and points an accusatory finger at his chest.

"Don't you let your love for her compromise this mission! I respect what you two have… I envy it! But this is more than just righting a wrong towards her. It's about saving hundreds… thousands of people from becoming slaves or dying needlessly. Don't you forget that." Connor stands impassively, letting her anger wash over him.

"I will not forget it. But Sergio must die. Whether he dies for his slaving enterprises, an affiliation with the Templars or for what he did to Catherine… It does not matter to me. His death will halt his plans and go a long way towards making amends." Aveline's mouth softens slightly at Connor's words. He has been affected deeply in his heart by his relationship with Catherine. In some ways, she is disappointed in the change she sees in him. The old Connor would be composed, unaffected by extraneous influences or matters of the heart. But in other ways, she is happy to see him clinging to something that isn't necessarily so tangible… love. It's a concept she hadn't thought him capable of in a traditional way; he would simply set it aside. At least she knows she can trust in his promise that he will not allow his mind to be clouded. That seems to have remained unchanged over the years. Aveline turns from Connor and raises her spyglass to view the fort once again but she is lost in her own ruminations.

Gerald Blanc loves her. She wishes she could love him back the same way. She has affection for him, yes, and she has allowed him access to her mind and body as a wife would but what they have isn't what Connor has with his young woman. Long ago, Gerald stopped asking for her hand in marriage. Aveline always had an excuse for him: This mission or that mission, it's too dangerous to be openly tied to her because he would become targeted, she could die and leave him a widower… She knows he cares for her like no other man ever has but she is incapable of opening her heart fully to him. Every time she tries, something in her resists. Yet Gerald never stops standing firmly by her side, supporting all of her endeavors, giving her everything she needs to run her Brotherhood smoothly, obtaining intelligence, allegiances, money, ships, keeping the books organized… and somehow he always finds a way to surprise her now and then with something extra, something special that he knows will make her happy. Once it was a new style of gun, and another time it was a tiny knife that could be hidden among her curls or in the colorful, twisted lengths of fabric she uses when she is in one of her disguises and can't have any visible weapons on her. He may not be the most adept with weapons or possess the strength she has but he makes up for it in other ways. His mind is sharper than anyone else, he has far more patience and he knows how to temper her when she is as hot and dangerous as blacksmith's forge. He isn't afraid of her despite knowing she could kill him in an instant. Despite all his generous attentions, Aveline can't help but feel she is only using him at times.

Their alliance had changed when she had allowed him to kiss her once. She had just returned from a mission and was exhausted, covered in dirt, cuts and bruises and her victory had been costly in both people and property. They had disagreed about something trivial and yet again, his mild responses and logical reasoning had calmed her. When he moved closer to reach his hand to her bloodied neck she had been too tired to turn away. He had quickly moved closer to kiss her and been surprisingly skilled with his mouth, unearthing something inside her she hadn't known existed. They got caught up in a battle of two separate moments- his, an almost worshipful affection and hers, a release… or maybe just an escape. Before Aveline knew what had happened, she found herself on the floor of the secret office near the docks, stripped mostly naked and having sex with Gerald. Their clothes were scattered around the room, hanging from the edge of the desk and kicked into corners. Blood from her cuts and scrapes was on his mouth and hands and he met every angry movement of hers with equally powerful passion. Afterwards, they dressed silently and didn't speak of it. In a way they had begun a different kind of marriage that day, not marked by rings or legal papers but by understanding. Gerald was content to keep their subsequent unions quiet and the Assassins under Aveline's direction were smart enough not to remark on it even when it became common knowledge. If anything, Gerald had gained their respect because none of them would have dared attempt courting her.

Aveline smiles cynically into the darkness at her remembrance. At least she knows she can trust him and rely on him and he can do the same with her. Isn't that worth something? Aveline is convinced that loving someone doesn't necessarily have to mean being  _in love_. Her life is just too complicated to let herself believe that; it always has been and it appears it always will be.

 

 

 _L'Etoile Polaire_  anchors off the Southern coast of Cuba and all the Assassins assemble on the deck. Aveline takes the lead.

"Connor and I have decided we'll break into four groups. One group of two will slip inside and reach a rooftop to assess the fort from high ground, two groups of three will assess the Southern and Eastern sides and one group of three will hike inland and come from the Northern side. I need three fast men to travel inland." Sonehso:wa catches Connor's eye and he nods in assent.

"I can take the northern path. I am fast and silent."

"Very good. Josiah, you go with him and…" Aveline looks to Connor for direction.

"Duncan."

"Alright. We'll paddle you three out first so you can get a head start. We need numbers: men, guns, cannons… We need to know how fortified Martinez is. Look for weak spots in the fort's structure or any place that isn't well guarded. If you can get inside..." She trails off and seems to ponder her next words. Connor interjects briefly.

"It would be good but take no chances and raise no alarms. We are seeking information, not a confrontation." Aveline nods in agreement.

"Clipper, Connor tells me you're an incredible shot with your musket. The uppermost roofs and ramparts will afford a good vantage point but you'll be unable to do much in the event of a conflict except cover us. I want you there with Ambrose, just in case something goes wrong. Get in silently, scale the walls, watch and wait. You'll be our guardian angels." She hands Ambrose her spyglass and he pockets it carefully.

"The rest of us will come in from the water side and the East side. From here, they appear to hold the fewest visible guards. It seems Martinez has little fear of an invasion or he would have manned his perimeter better." Aveline pauses and looks carefully at everyone present until her eyes fall on Connor. She holds his gaze for longer than anyone else before continuing.

"This is a reconnaissance mission. Unless you can identify Sergio Martinez with absolute certainty and silently assassinate him without drawing any attention to you, your location or anyone else's locations, do not attempt to eliminate our target. I will not have our mission compromised by taking unnecessary risks. We don't have the firepower to defend ourselves if the alarm is raised. Do you all understand me perfectly?" Everyone present nods and Aveline stands straighter.

"Alright. Fortune is on our side, for the moon is clouded. We'll meet back on the ship at the third hour past midnight." She turns to the Captain and his brother where they stand nearby.

"I want your assurance that you'll continue to keep all lanterns doused while we're gone. If you're spotted we won't be able to defend you."

"Aye, Madame. It will be as you say." Jean is quick to reply as he twirls the end of one side of his mustache in his fingers. Pierre merely stands quietly beside him with his arms crossed. Aveline gestures toward the dinghy being lowered toward the water.

"Let's go." Sonehso:wa, Duncan and Josiah climb over the side and down into the dinghy to join the sailor who will paddle them to shore. Everyone watches until they disappear into the darkness. About thirty minutes pass before the sailor returns. Clipper and Ambrose climb down and are paddled to shore next. Aveline takes Dobby and Jacob with her on the third trip after a second sailor swaps out with the first one. Connor, Joseph and Owen leave last.

 

 

Catherine lies in bed, restless. Tonight Connor will be out with his Brotherhood, scouting the very place Sergio is hiding. Her heart races wildly and her anxiety climbs up another level. She can almost hear his quiet breathing, the sound of sand moving under his feet and the rustle of clothing in the darkness as he takes stock of the layout, the people, the armory… but what if someone sees him? What if one of the other Assassins is spotted and their plans are discovered? Catherine rolls over and reaches to the empty pillow beside her. Only one night with him sharing the bed wasn't enough for his scent to linger and the sheets smell only of the Caribbean sea breezes and floral perfume of the surrounding gardens. Instead of being soothing, the regular sound of the waves is like sharp claws raking down her spine and digging into her skull. With a loud sigh, Catherine flings herself onto her back again and stares at the ceiling. She slaps her palms down on the bed on either side of her body and kicks the covers off of her. Rising up, she walks to the open window and parts the sheer curtains to look into the night. There isn't much visible beyond the greenery that appears grey in the night. The rest is darkness except for the stars in the sky.

Anika and Catherine had been keeping themselves busy for two days, befriending the people who populate this tiny fishing village and quickly finding themselves warmly welcomed into homes and hearts alike. Their ability to speak Spanish made them easy to communicate with. They liked to listen to the people's stories about how they ended up here and would occasionally share their own. One very old woman in particular was very interested in Catherine's relationship with Connor. She operated a tiny tailor's shop out of her home and took great pride in telling them she knew Connor's grandfather when he used to spend time on the island. By the end of the conversation, she admitted that she hadn't really known him beyond sharing his bed for pay. But his pay was generous and she had used every bit of it to create her small business. She then surprised them both by offering them some brightly colored fabric to make some dresses with. At first they had declined but after a bit of clever convincing, she got them to take it. The girls promised her they would work hard at creating new dresses in time for when the men returned. It would hopefully be a celebratory atmosphere and both of the women had used the project as a way to keep up their positivity and distract them from their worries.

Catherine had continued to keep Anika's spirits high for the most part but sometimes her words felt like she was trying to convince herself. The first night the men were gone, they couldn't face going to their separate bedrooms so Anika had joined Catherine in hers and they had spent the night talking far into the small hours the way they used to as young girls. On this night, however, Catherine is unable to set aside her fears.

Moving to the chair nearby, Catherine picks up Connor's tricorne from the seat and sits down. She absently runs her fingers along the trim that adorns the edges of it and then raises the hat to her chest and holds it to herself, touching her chin to the pointed front. Immediately, she can smell him. His scent fills her nose and she closes her eyes, breathing deeply of him over and over. Standing, she takes Connor's heavy Captain's jacket from the back of the chair and carries it with his hat over to the bed. Placing the hat down on Connor's pillow, she pulls the coat on over her shift and lies down with its oversized dimensions overlapped and wrapped around her body tightly. The sleeves extend far beyond her hands but she folds the excess over her fingers and curls her body up under the covers. It's a poor exchange for Connor's presence but it is all she has so she is as content as she can be.

 

 

The sailor paddles steadily yet relatively silently over the choppy waters surrounding the island of Cuba. He beaches the dinghy and the four of them drag it over under the overhang of a rocky cove out of sight from any of the few patrols on the wall. No footprints, except for the recent ones made by the previous Assassins, mar the sand along the shore, indicating a lack of patrols on the ground. All of the sets of footprints head east along the wall. Aveline had taken her Assassins that way so Connor motions to his men and silently indicates the western facing walls of the fort as their goal. In single file, they quietly follow the rocky cliff capped by white walls until they curve sharply at the promontory of land. Only a little light reaches the sand from the top of the walls high above their heads. Most of it leaves a wide swath of shadow at the base of the walls, affording them ideal cover.

The inlet opens up before them. The channel is huge; the narrowest point is at least a thousand feet across, making it wide and deep enough to accommodate massive seafaring vessels. The fortress walls follow the terrain and Connor leads his men along the perimeter as the ground rises steadily upward. The land abruptly drops steeply off at a cliff edge that falls almost straight down to waves crashing over smooth, rounded sea rocks, jagged pieces of broken stone and brick blocks. In the finger of water that extends in an eastern direction from the inlet are several ships that are nearly identical in size, type and build. There are six two-masted Bermuda schooners, designed for speed on the open ocean and their ability to carry heavy cargo. Another ship moored with them is much bigger, dwarfing the others. It's a schooner as well but far bigger in size, having four masts and adequate rigging for several auxiliary sails. Farther in the distance, Connor can see yellow and orange lights reflecting on the dark blue-black water from the many buildings of Santiago de Cuba.

There is no path to continue around the fort so Connor has his men wait for his signal and begins to scale the cliff and then the wall. The place is old and has obviously been repaired several times. The junctions of repaired brickwork and original wall overlap and provide a surprisingly easy path to the top with deep enough crevices to make decent handholds. Connor braces his legs and peers over the edge. A single guard standing casually with his back facing the wall is the only obstacle to accessing this entire section. The laxity of the guard and the lack of adequate manpower, at least in this portion of the fort, give Connor reason to doubt the accuracy of the information Aveline had acquired from the men she caught. Maybe they have the wrong place.

He slips over the wall and signals to his men to wait. Moving on silent feet, he crosses the width of the walkway perimeter and approaches the guard. The man doesn't even have time to react before Connor has him with is neck trapped between his arm and chest. He turns with the man and drags him back towards the side of an empty watchtower with one hand over his mouth. The man struggles briefly, small noises of choking and the scraping of his feet on the stucco surface of the walkway making only the most minimal disruption to the quiet night. When the man's body falls limp and his desperately scrabbling hands drop from Connor's sleeves to dangle at his sides, he lowers him to a seated position between the watchtower and a cannon and whistles softly toward the others waiting below. They climb up and join him. Joseph takes the pistol from the guard, slides it into the back of his belt and then takes the man's sword from its sheath. He drops the sword point down where it lodges itself into the narrow, sandy strip of beach below. Owen takes a long length of rope from where he has it looped over his shoulder and uses it to bind his hands and feet together. The guard's own cravat and another piece of rope make a suitable gag so he can't raise an alarm. As an afterthought, Owen rips the embroidered emblem from his shoulder and pockets it.

Like a silent breeze in the night, Connor and his Assassins move towards the next level. There are no other guards in sight but the open area between the walls provides little cover so they keep their steps as light as possible as they stealthily traverse the flat space. There is a profusion of scrubby, stunted underbrush that grows on a steep hillside just below the next section of wall. They all crouch down as they move through it toward their next obstacle. All three of them climb simultaneously and peer over the edge. This level is overgrown with more of the shrubby greenery from below and seems to not be populated at all. A long staircase cuts through the middle of the overgrowth that would make their progress much easier but it would also leave them exposed so they stay crouched under what cover the foliage provides. Thorns and clusters of agave with their broad, sword shaped leaves edged with sharp serrations growing in the sandy soil make moving through the underbrush challenging and inconvenient. Adding to the difficulty is a succulent groundcover that carpets the area and is crushed beneath their feet, releasing the pulpy, slippery contents of its plump leaves in bursts of squeaky pops. Vines cover the wall leading to the third tier of the compound, creeping over deteriorating and unrepaired bricks that crumble under their hands, sending cascades of sandy detritus down into the plants below as they climb.

There are more guards here but they are spaced so far apart that they only need to take one down in order to clear a path to the fourth tier where the towering structure sits. Several burning braziers are scattered around the flat, hard packed earth of this level and a guard or two stands at each one. More cannons are spaced along the walls on this level than the first, with cannon balls stacked precisely in pyramids alongside oiled bags of powder. Most of the cannons point out to the sea and towards the inlet that leads to Santiago de Cuba. Though the weapons show signs of age, disuse and rust, a quick examination of one is enough to indicate they are in working order. None of the guards seem terribly concerned about keeping sentry and only occasionally do they glance around the area or out toward the sea in a semblance of interest. Just as Connor is about to signal Owen to incapacitate the one guard in their direct path, the guard moves over toward one of the others near a brazier and they begin to fill pipes for smoking. The three assassins once again move quickly and silently, keeping to the shadows and making for the upper level of the fort as the indecipherable sounds of conversation ebbs and flows from the gathered guards.

Crouched and hidden among the ever present brushy greenery, Connor has a quick meeting with his men.

"If the area around the fort is as unoccupied as these levels, we will begin searching the building. I am not ready to discount the information Aveline obtained about the men Martinez has been amassing just yet, despite the appearance of this place. Keep your eyes open. They could be inside."

They reach the level the main fort sits on and Connor takes a moment to assess the area. He is disappointed to see far more patrols than on the other levels. He sends Owen and Joseph to scout the western perimeter while Connor cautiously traverses towards the eastern side. He is startled when he comes upon Dobby crouched in the very same patch of scrubby plants he is. He lowers himself down beside her.

"How many?"

"I count a dozen between here and the far Eastern side where we came from. Aveline has decided to take stock of the perimeter. I'm to make a whistled call if I see a threat. The doors are guarded. Nothing on the ground is accessible unless we make it that way with our blades." Connor is relieved that Dobby seems to have set their differences aside for the sake of the mission. A muffled sound of voices carries to them in the night air.

"I was beginning to think this place was empty for a while."

"That would be too good to be true and you know it." Connor leaves Dobby's side and creeps back toward where he and his men originally climbed up to this level. Owen and Joseph are there waiting for him.

"Connor, we can't go any further around than the far corner there. This place has some kind of water filled moat that blocks access to the main entrance. There's no way across and we saw no sign of the others who were to come at the fort from the north. I don't see any way for them to get across. There is a path that seems to lead down toward the city on the other side. There are men coming up it to the fort in a steady stream."

"More of the forces Aveline spoke of?"

"Perhaps. Most of them seem to have had too much to drink."

"Then I aim to find out. I see Clipper and Ambrose on the roof. That is where we are going." The men creep around and use a shadowy corner to cross to the fort. They make quick work of scaling the building's walls, being sure to stay among shadows as often as possible. Near the top of the tallest spire, Connor pauses at an open window. It appears to be a study of some type and it is unoccupied. He nods his head toward the roof and the other men continue on while Connor opens the wrought iron shutters widely enough to admit him and climbs inside the window. The desk is stout and simple, nothing like the gaudy, heavy furniture that adorned the Martinez mansion. A small locked letter box sits on the nearly empty desk with a quill and inkwell. A map of Cuba and the Caribbean islands tops a stack of several other maps set neatly to the side of the large writing surface. Connor checks the door only to find it locked before returning to the desk and rifling through the maps. He pulls out one that details the western coast of Africa. Connor's curiosity is piqued and he opens drawers in the desk. There isn't much of interest or any defining items among the contents that would reveal the identity of the room's owner. The letter box is locked. Connor walks around the room once, scrutinizing its dimensions. There is no artwork on the walls, no personalization, no private details, just a mismatched desk and chair, a locked chest against one of the walls between the door and the window and an overly ornate lamp with colored glass and pierced metalwork along the bottom. Connor pauses at the door and listens. He hears nothing so he moves to the chest, kneels down and takes out his lock picking tools.

Inside the chest are several certificates of sales and receipts. Connor's heartbeat speeds up. Almost unimaginable quantities of sawn lumber, sailcloth, barrels, preserved foodstuffs, rope, ship's wheels, barrels of pitch, masts and various other shipbuilding supplies are listed as paid for and delivered. Other papers indicate a vast supply of glass beads, rum and other items listed as "sundry trade goods" had been purchased as well. Near the bottom of the stack and underneath several schematic diagrams of ships with holds modified to be half the height and of twice the number of a typical Bermuda schooner is an item scribed on thick paper and embossed with an official wax seal originating in New York. It is the certificate indicating the sale of Parry-Martinez Textiles to Mr. Thomas Somers for an amount of 10,250 Spanish gold doubloons. It is an inconceivable amount of money. Jamie had not been exaggerating when he had said the sale price was hefty, indeed.

Now sure he is in the private study of Sergio Martinez, Connor digs further in the chest. There is a box of fine cigars, a bottle of sixty year old rum, several bags of gold doubloons and a pair of heavily embellished pistols packed in an ebony box lined with black velvet that are so gaudy with gold inlay and gems that they can't possibly be for actual use. Anyone carrying such a weapon would be immediately robbed on sight. Nothing else catches Connor's interest so he places the papers back inside the way he had found them and shuts the lid. Moving to the desk, he picks the letter box's lock next. It is packed with correspondence, sorted by sender and separated by colorful bits of thick paper. Connor reads some that were sent by Francisco and other than mundane notes on the progress of readying the Martinez mansion for selling, there is nothing of any significance. He pulls out a stack of letters from the next fullest section and reads the one dated the most recently. Connor wants to crush it in his fist when he is done.

_My dear friend and fellow brother:_

_Greetings from St. Vincent_

_Many felicitations for your clever ousting of that troublesome Governor in Havana, Bernardo de Galvez. I never would have thought to play such an indirect hand as having an unfortunate death in the family to incite him to action, get him out of our way and leave him to become New Spain's problem. We should now find no resistance to moving our cargo through there and into the Colonies. I must say that your tactics are both brilliant and devious! Our plans have nearly come to fruition. All the groundwork is in place for uniting our purpose for England and the land of your birth. Our men are poised for action and will be ready to take their places beside the ears of their ruling entities the moment war is declared on Spain for their so-called egregious support of slaving. We will be free to reap the rewards of our labors and perhaps our fortunes will be elevated even further._

_Write me when you return from the_ Fenix de Oro _'s imminent maiden voyage with her mighty fleet to the rich coast of Africa and I will join you in Havana to celebrate our success. Perhaps you will be interested in purchasing a plantation near mine on Dominica where you can use the best of your spoils to work in the fields._

_Thanks to your generous use of funds, we have the entire world's fortune in our hands._

_May the Father of Understanding Guide Us._

_Your Brother,_

_Sir William Young_

Connor turns the paper over and examines the red wax seal in the pale and clouded light of the moon. It is marked by the templar cross. Against his better judgment, Connor pockets the letter and shuts the letter box. He had originally intended to leave everything with the appearance of having been undisturbed but this is too much. If Sergio finds this letter missing… Connor doesn't care. Exiting the study through the window, he rapidly climbs to the roof to join with the others there.

"What took you so long? I was about to climb down and make sure you hadn't been caught." Joseph whispers with a smirk. His humor falls flat when he sees the thunderous expression on Connor's face. Ambrose nudges Clipper with his elbow and points over the roof edge. He hands Aveline's spyglass to Connor and whispers.

"Just on the other side of the moat…" Connor looks through it and watches as a handful of men stagger up the hilly path and then over to the gate. One of them has a scantily clad woman on his arm and the guards at the bridge block her from entering. They turn her away to the shouted protests of the man who brought her, who is then bodily dragged inside by another guard. The gate and bridge seem to be adequately manned with better disciplined and well armed sentries. Connor scans the distant trees and then moves back to a section of foliage he had already examined. He adjusts the lenses in the spyglass slightly and fixes his attention there. It is just as he thought. Sonehso:wa's group had not been able to cross the open space to the northern side of the fort but they had set themselves up with a good view of the gate and the approaching path.

Moving the glass so he can see the inlet, he examines the ships moored along the fort's perimeter. They are all identical except for the one larger one, and based on the designs Connor had seen, they have each been modified to hold hundreds of slaves in tiny holds. His stomach clenches in disgust. If he had the  _Aquila_ , he could destroy every one of them right now.  _L'Etoile Polaire_  might have a chance at destroying one or two, but the giant schooner moored nearby would sink her before she could do any more damage or escape. From his higher vantage point, Connor can make out the prow of the large schooner, but not the name. He doesn't have to. Terry and Godfrey's boys had once asked him to tell them scary stories and he had regaled them with a few of the ones he had been told as a child. In return, the boys had told him of the monsters in Greek mythology. One in particular, a sun bird who is reborn from the ashes of its own dead body, is depicted in vivid detail before him. The figurehead on the schooner is a Phoenix, its massive, gold painted wings spreading back along the sides of the prow and its head reaching outward beneath the bowsprit. There can be no mistaking it as the flagship of Sergio's company. Francisco's insistence that the Martinez name would be remade, and become glorified and powerful makes Connor lower the spyglass and shake his head in disgust. Such arrogance and over confidence can never result in good. Catherine will be devastated when she learns of what Sergio has begun.

While panning the spyglass around the fort, Connor whispers to Clipper and Ambrose.

"What is your count of men and guns?"

"We counted at least forty cannons spaced around the fort, most are at the walls or on low rooftops. Two are partway down the path facing the city and two more flank either end of the bridge across the moat. The number of men grows. When we got here, we counted eighteen men patrolling, another ten standing sentry at doors and the bridge. So far, we have seen twenty two men return from the city and four prostitutes turned away at the gate.

"We can learn nothing more here and time is growing short. We will return to  _L'Etoile Polaire_  and await the rest." Owen protests.

"We have barely learned anything at all! We don't even know if we have the right place unless you've got something you want to share."

"We have the right place. I will share what I found when we are all back onboard the ship. For now, we move." Connor's impatient whisper is all they need to get moving.

"I promised Aveline I would watch over her men. Go. I will wait here until the men across the moat have made their retreat in safety." Ambrose speaks with an insistent tone to his whisper. Clipper places his hand on his shoulder.

"As will I. Guardian Angels do not leave the ones under their protection." Connor simply nods, agreeing with their loyal stance.

At the base of the fort, Connor and his men find Aveline meeting with Dobby in her hiding place.

"We have what we need. The others will be on their way when soon so we will start back." Aveline nods at Connor's information and indicates with a gesture for Dobby to go with him and his men. Dobby turns on her toes and traverses the leafy cover without a word, slipping out behind Joseph as they move into the thick shadow of nearby boulders. Aveline disappears in the opposite direction to inform Jacob of their retreat.

By keeping close to the walls and scaling the more dangerous cliff edges on the eastern side of the rocky peninsula, they traverse almost straight down to the wide bottom level just above the little rocky cove housing the dinghy and waiting sailor. Moving towards the rounded point of the wall, they come to the guard they had tied up. He is awake and struggling so Joseph knocks him unconscious again. Owen drops down to the sand below and Connor and Joseph lower the guard over the edge of the wall to him. He eases the fall just enough to spare him any real injury but still allows him to hit the sand with jarring force. Connor and Joseph jump down to join Owen. The three men untie the guard, return his gun and sword and sprinkle sand on him to make him appear to have fallen.

The sailor who should have been waiting for them is nowhere in sight. Owen walks along the sandy strip and disappears around the corner. Only moments later, he returns, bodily dragging the sailor with him. Owen throws him down in front of Connor but keeps his hold on the collar of his jacket.

"I found him sneaking around over where we first climbed up. He sure looked like he had just finished up some scouting of his own." The man's knees and stomach are coated in the white, crumbly mortar of the fort's walls.

"I said I was jus' takin' a piss! Get yer hands offa' me!" Connor's forehead creases in anger.

"If you were just 'taking a piss' as you say, why could you not do it here?" Connor indicates the waves slapping against the stony cliff walls of the promontory and hissing up onto the narrow strip of sand that rises out of the water.

"I mighta' been seen by anyone passin' by or lookin' here with their glass!" Dobby steps close with her hands on her hips.

"Since when is a sailor afraid of his shipmates seeing his cock? Unless you're particularly miniscule…" Dobby holds up her hand, bringing her thumb and index finger close together and raising it to her eye as she squints at it. Joseph looks at his feet and coughs quietly to hide his amusement. Dobby turns to glance over her shoulder at him with a humorous expression on her face. She faces the sailor again and crouches down in front of him, leaning forward so he gets a prime view of her cleavage.

"Tell me, what's your name, sailor?" She lifts his chin with her finger and smiles frighteningly at him.

"Wot's it to you, then?" Dobby's hand reaches out in a flash and she takes hold of his crotch with an iron grip. The sailor grabs her wrist and shouts in pain but Dobby covers his mouth.

"Because I want to tell everyone on board who's cock it is that I've cut off. You'll be squatting like a girl to take your pisses from now on if you don't give a straight answer. What were you doing? We've been here longer than it takes to piss." She squeezes him a little tighter for emphasis and lets go as he falls backward against Owen, covering himself but remaining silent aside from his rapid breathing. Connor pauses as he and Joseph finish hauling the dinghy into the water.

"Dobby, we do not have time for this. We need to return to the ship and send the boat back for Aveline and the rest." Just as he speaks, Aveline and Jacob appear at the top of the wall and begin to climb down.

"Fine. But I get to question him later!" She turns to the sailor, who is still clutching his testicles, and draws a knife from her sleeve. She makes a rapid cutting motion toward him in the air and then touches her tongue to the blade with a toothy, devilish smile before returning it to its place. Owen drags the sailor into the dinghy and sits down next to him. Dobby and Joseph join them, with Dobby taking a seat on the other side of the sailor.

Connor waits for Aveline and Jacob to reach the ground. Aveline looks briefly at the guard lying on his side in the sand before crossing her arms and settling her gaze on Connor. She tilts her head in the man's direction once.

"A guard that needed removal. He lives but he will more than likely wake up with a nasty headache. If he wakes before you leave, you may handle him as you wish. He seems to have taken a nasty fall…"

"I see." Connor's cursory explanation is enough for Aveline and her mouth twitches in amusement as he turns and splashes a few steps into the breaking waves to climb into the dinghy.

As they row away from the shore with Connor on the oars, Dobby places a hand on the sailor's knee. She looks at him from the sides of her eyes, slides her hand up higher on his thigh and bites her bottom lip.

"Soon, my pretty." She whispers. Her mannerisms could be construed as promiscuous and sexual for any other man than the terrified sailor, who keeps both of his hands firmly over himself and attempts to shrink away from touching either Owen or Dobby. Joseph is highly amused by it all but manages to keep his mirth contained to occasional smirks.

Connor is trying desperately to hold in his anger at what he discovered and the suspicious attitude of the sailor. He uses it to power every stroke of the oars until he his sweating profusely. Pausing only long enough to lower his hood, he makes rapid progress back to the ship. Dobby climbs up first and is waiting with open arms and a dark leer on her face for the sailor, who is sent up next with Owen hard on his heels. The sailor attempts to evade Dobby but she is quick about knocking his feet from under him and straddling him where he lies face down on the deck. Owen crosses his arms and stands beside her, looking down at them. Leaning close to the sailor's ear, she makes as if to whisper to him but speaks loudly enough for all to hear.

"Trying to get away from me, my pretty? That cock you've got is  _mine_." The sailors who had gathered around laugh loudly until the captain walks over.

"What is the meaning of this? Release my man or I'll have you thrown overboard, woman!" Connor steps onto the deck then and approaches Jean after leaning down and telling Joseph to row back to the shore and pick up the remaining Assassins.

"You may not feel so strongly if you knew we found him sneaking around where he should not have been when we returned."

"Explain your words, Assassin."

"I have reason to believe your man is hiding something. I mean to get answers from him." Jean looks down at his crewman.

"Have you anything to hide, Francois?"

"No, Captain, nothin'."

"Then answer the man's questions and be done with this."

"I was takin' a piss, an' that giant oaf dragged me back, sayin' I was climbin' an' sneakin'!"

"Look at him, Captain. He's covered in dust from the wall and his hands…" Owen ignores the sailor's insult in favor of resolving the issue. Dobby expertly flips the man over underneath her, quickly dropping back down on top of him. She grabs his hand and raises it toward the lantern the captain carries, affecting a sweet innocence to her voice and opening her eyes wide.

"Why Captain! They look so dusty and scratched for a man pissing into the ocean. In fact, they look an awful lot like someone who don't do much climbing so he don't know how to find solid handholds. Mmmm. But I know how to find the  _best_  handholds… don't I, Francois?" She draws out the sailor's name while she wiggles her bottom on the man's hips where she is sitting. He cringes at the shift in weight so near to his genitals.

"God's truth, Captain, I wasn't doin' nothin' wrong!" The captain scowls at the sailor and then at everyone around him.

"Put him in the brig. We'll sort this out later."  
"Thank you, Captain! Thank you for your mercy!"

"That's enough, Francois. You've said more than enough for now." The captain follows the two sailors who lead Francois below decks.

There is an uneasy silence aboard the  _L'Etoile Polaire_  while everyone awaits the return of the remaining Assassins. They all arrive in one boatload, with Sonehso:wa at the oars. Aveline is the first up the ladder and she immediately senses the awkward tension between everyone.

"So. What did you find?" she asks.

"Enough." Connor grumbles under his breath as he looks over his shoulder towards where the captain had gone.

"Care to add to that?" Aveline is impatient. Connor produces the letter from his pocket and hands it to her with the seal facing up. He unhooks a nearby lantern and raises the wick until it casts a bright light over the paper. Aveline glances up at him with a shocked expression on her face.

"I wasn't expecting anything so overt. I suppose we have our answer."

"Read it." Aveline opens the letter and reads it in silence. She passes the paper to Ambrose and he quietly reads it aloud to Josiah. The others gather close to listen or read over his shoulder. When he is done, Connor takes the letter and deposits it in his pocket again.

"We should discuss this in a more private place." He suggests.

"Discuss what?" The captain says as he returns to their assembled group. Connor pauses for only a moment before responding.

"What to do about your man."

"I'll handle him. He admitted to leaving his post and trying to see what you were doing. Simple curiosity, nothing more. His punishment will be appropriate."

"What did you have in mind?" Connor says as he begins to walk toward the stairs leading below. Aveline joins them on Connor's other side.

"Maybe a free trip under the keel, for starters."

"And after?"

"I'll have him on bilge duty. That should be enough, yes?"

"Perhaps. I will speak with him..." Jean raises his hand up.

"That won't be necessary. I'm the captain of this ship and he is under my employ." Jean waves his hand dismissively, making Connor stiffen his shoulders and raise his chin up. Aveline takes a handful of his jacket between his shoulder blades and gives it a quick tug. She speaks up before Connor can respond.

"Indeed you are, Captain. Thank you for handling your man's…. indiscretion. Now. I think we would all like to sail back to friendlier waters, don't you agree?" Jean scowls briefly but quickly raises his hand to his mustache and twirls the end.

"Hmm. Quite agreed." He leaves them to walk toward the wheel, shouting to his crew as he crosses the deck.

When the Assassins are all assembled in their section of the crew's quarters, they hold a whispered meeting. Connor looks at each one present in turn.

"Say nothing to anyone outside our group about our discoveries this night. I have a strong impression there is something amiss on this ship." Aveline nods.

"I agree with Connor. The captain and his brother are not the same men I hired some months ago." The ship sways as the anchor is lifted and the winds begin to work with the sails. Aveline continues.

"Keep watch for anything suspicious. If you see anything, tell us." She takes a deep breath and changes the direction of the conversation.

"Now. As you all know, Connor found the letter." She looks at him and he takes over.

"I found it in a locked study in the main tower, along with maps of Cuba and the west coast of Africa, a certificate of sale for Catherine's father's textile business and detailed diagrams of slave ships. The fort is armed with at least forty cannons and more than enough men to man them all. Sergio also has at least seven slave ships and presumably enough men to man them as well. Among those seven is a larger one. The one mentioned in the letter:  _Fenix de Oro_." Aveline's expression is perturbed. Her forehead creases with worry.

"Seven ships? He could transport hundreds… maybe even over a thousand people in seven ships! We must stop him!"

"We will. I propose we attack the fort with the  _Aquila_  and use  _L'Etoile Polaire_  as support. If we can bring down the fort and destroy the ships we can crush this before it starts."

"You're sure we can take down this fort and all the ships with only our two?"

"I have accomplished the same feat before with just the  _Aquila_. It can be done."

"At what cost, Connor?"

"Hopefully none."

"Well, I haven't got a better plan. Anyone else have a suggestion?" Aveline steps back from their circle to lean on a support post. No one has anything to add so she takes her hat off and sets it on a nearby crate as she concludes the meeting.

"Then I suggest we all try to sleep." Ambrose stands straighter.

"I will take watch."

"I plan on making a visit to my sailor-man below." Dobby says, almost as an afterthought as she begins to turn away.

"Don't get caught. We don't need any more confrontations with the captain."

"Thank you, Aveline, but I never get caught…" Connor clenches his teeth as he watches her swagger away towards her bunk. He believes her but there is no telling what the sailor will say to the captain afterwards.

 

 

It seems like only a few moments pass after Connor closes his eyes before Dobby is shaking him awake.

"Wake up!" she hisses at him. She is more distressed than he has ever seen her.

"What is it?" Connor is instantly alert and he realizes he must have gotten at least two hours of sleep, for the first light of sunrise is casting the stairway in stripes of golden light and deep shadow.

"The sailor… Francois… he's dead! The captain…" she looks around and lowers her whisper even farther as Connor sits up.

"… the captain and his brother came down shortly after I did so I had to hide. Jean went right up to the bars of the cell and said the sailor could have ruined everything. He said he had two options for his carelessness. He could hang himself right then or become shark food. The captain threatened to eviscerate him while he was still alive and dangle his feet in the water for the sharks to eat. I think you can guess which option he took. The captain pointed a gun at him and watched him do it! He stood there for a full five minutes after his body went limp!" Connor says nothing. He considers her words and rubs his mouth with his hand. Dobby shakes her head and huffs impatiently.

"We need to do something! We're on a ship in the middle of the ocean with a mad man!"

"Quiet. Let me think…. We do nothing for now. You said he called the actions of the sailor 'careless' and that he could have 'ruined everything'?" Dobby nods, frowning.

"I wonder what he meant by that?" Dobby is pacing in front of Connor's bunk so he reaches out and grabs her wrist.

"We will wake Aveline and the others. You will share this with them as well." Dobby nods, seemingly relieved to have something to do.

 

 

To none of the Assassins' surprise, the captain reveals the sad and unexpected suicide of his crew member later in the morning. They all make sure to express shock and disappointment. Dobby even throws in a remark about not being able to have her way with him after all when his body, sewn into a canvas shroud with some weights, is thrown overboard. The Assassins had agreed ahead of time that the best course of action appears to be nothing. They cannot reveal what they know or they risk exposing their doubts about the captain's loyalty. In an effort to maintain a minimum of suspicion, they keep themselves scattered about the ship, never meeting in groups of more than two or three. It is a fairly easy pretense to uphold since everyone is tired from their overnight excursion. Most of them spend a good amount of the first day of their return trip napping.

Near evening, Aveline and Connor stand at the stern of the ship, using their spyglasses to observe a set of sails that have appeared on the horizon. It is far behind them and though it is considerably farther to the south of their course, it seems to be running parallel to them. Unfortunately, it is too far away to see many details. Even with the spyglass, it is almost indiscernible from the horizon.

"Should we alert the men?" Connor mumbles.

"No. If it's still there in the morning we will." Aveline answers without looking at him.

"Very well."

The ship is there on the horizon to greet Connor and Aveline when they come up on deck in the morning. They separately circulate around the ship, informing the others discreetly and asking if there is any way any of them had been spotted. There is unanimous agreement that no one had been seen at any point so they continue to play out their sham of indifference to the best of their abilities. No one can prevent themselves from taking glances at it, though, especially when the sails become visible without the use of a spyglass. Its path veers closer to theirs steadily and then levels out on a parallel again.

The captain and his brother are also watching the sails. The talk to each other where they stand at the wheel of  _L'Etoile Polaire_  and Connor decides to approach them.

"What are your thoughts on the vessel there?" Connor gestures toward the ship.

"I have no thoughts. It's a ship. They're no longer approaching and they have not threatened us."

"We share the same opinion, Captain. I am happy to hear it." Connor stands with the brothers a moment longer, hoping they will say more. They remain silent so Connor leaves them alone, not wishing to create any additional tension.

The winds are fair and they reach the entrance to the cove in less time than they had spent traveling to Cuba. The other ship increases its distance, changing tack rather abruptly to pass on ahead of them and disappear beyond the island and their sight, much to Connor's relief. It seems their concerns had been unfounded all along. With the threat passed, his anxiety turns to anticipation. He has never really been apart from Catherine for so long since he had found her and this trip has not given him much time to think on personal matters. The realization makes him glance over at his closest friend where he stands at the bow of the ship with the leadsman and the lookout. Sonehso:wa's shoulders are tense. The wind blows his hair around, whipping it into his face at times but he stands unaffected with his hands on the railing, staring straight ahead. Connor walks over to him and together they wait for the harbor to come into sight.

The village is lit up brightly in the waning sunlight, especially the tavern on the water's edge. Music is being played inside and it spills out across the bay, a welcome sound to all on board the ship. It draws everyone not manning rigging or essential duties to the railings. Connor is happy to see the  _Aquila_  fully upright and properly docked. The men assigned to watch the harbor run down the ramp and three of them haul the ropes thrown out from  _L'Etoile Polaire_  to drag in their returning captain. When the ship is docked, Connor turns to the captain and calls to him.

"My thanks, Captain for your expertise." Jean tips his hat and Pierre shouts back to him.

"It seems there is a party waiting for us. We will join you presently." Connor nods and debarks with the rest of the Assassins who have already gathered their things and exited the ship, only to hurriedly cross to the  _Aquila_  to deposit them hastily in their places. The festive music, laughter and prospect of food and drink is heartening to everyone, including Connor. Joseph reaches the door first and when he opens it light and sound pours out. He holds the door for Connor and Sonehso:wa, making a grand gesture with his hand for them to enter.

"Your ladies await you, gentlemen!" Connor and Sonehso:wa step inside and they scan the large common room quickly. The room is crowded and at first, they don't see Anika and Catherine. People are milling about and talking in clusters. Some are dancing and aside from the sailors, almost everyone is dressed in some kind of cheerful garb befitting a celebration. Sonehso:wa nudges Connor's arm at the same moment that he sees the women. They are seated in a less crowded corner at a table with several empty bottles and clay mugs scattered across the surface of it and are laughing about something one or the other had said.

The women are wearing dresses made of brightly colored material. Catherine's is a turquoise that almost mimics the color of the lagoon. Her curls are partly tied back from her face and spill down her back and over her left shoulder. Anika's dress is a bright coral red and her hair is held back by a piece of matching material used as a headband. They turn to watch as Joseph makes a loud entrance into the crowd, spinning an island woman around with her hand over her head before dipping her deeply toward the floor and planting a kiss on her cheek. She feigns offense but happily joins him when he leads her into the music.

Anika stands up at the sight of Joseph and Catherine joins her. They look to the door and meet the eyes of their returned men with expressions of pure happiness. Connor and Sonehso:wa walk quickly across the room and through the crowd as the women scramble to get around the table without tripping over the chairs. The shared reunion is the cause of much cheering that drowns out anything they can say to each other. Aveline is pushing a freshly opened bottle of rum into Connor's hand and shouting to them all over the hubbub.

"The rum is on me. We may as well celebrate something!" She raises a second bottle high in the air in a general toast to the room before taking a long swig.

It isn't until some time later that the two couples get a chance to speak in relative privacy. Connor doesn't go into much detail about their trip but he hands Catherine the emblem Owen had cut from the guard's uniform. Her look of distress is laced with a flash of anger and even some hope. She closes her fingers around it and turns her face up to Connor's. There are too many people around them of dubious loyalty to risk divulging much and Connor knows the questions she wants desperately to ask.

"Do not worry about the how and the why, WildCat. We have already formed a good plan of attack and as soon as we can ready our ships we will end it forever. For now, let us celebrate with everyone." Catherine studies his face and makes no further protest. Instead, she watches Anika and Sonehso:wa where they are sitting and talking earnestly. Anika is smiling and nodding excitedly and Sonehso:wa's face lights up with happiness. He laughs loudly and then pauses for a moment to take Anika's hands. He tips his face upward and laughs even louder, drawing the eyes of many in the room as he stands, pulling Anika to her feet and taking her in a hug.

"What is that about?" Connor leans close to Catherine to ask.

"Ani's with child. Three months now." Connor looks up at his friend where he is now kissing his wife passionately. When they separate, Anika's face is flushed a bright red that rivals the color of her dress. Catherine stands and Connor follows her as they join the happy couple. The two women hug and exchange kisses and then Catherine opens her arms to Sonehso:wa with a smile. He laughs and hugs her, lifting her up in the air and making her squeal delightedly until he sets her back down again. Connor is quiet compared to everyone else but his eyes show joy for his friend. It isn't until Sonehso:wa takes him in a one armed hug that a smile breaks on his face. Sonehso:wa is unable to resist a golden opportunity.

"Well, my brother… it seems you have some catching up to do. As usual. Let me know if you need any help!" Catherine covers her mouth to hide her scandalized laughter at his suggestive joking. Anika slaps her husband's side.

"You wouldn't dare!" Sonehso:wa kisses her frown and smiles, pushing Connor away.

"Not if you do not approve, wife!" Connor merely shakes his head, letting his friend win this time.

Before he knows it, Connor has consumed almost half a bottle of rum by himself. He has never had so much to drink in his life. He remembers a time when he could barely drink one cup, yet tonight he had drunk right from the bottle like the rest of the  _Aquila_ 's crew. The sailors are still going strong, especially the ones from  _L'Etoile Polaire_ , their shouts and laughter coming in waves that drown out all the other sounds in the inn when it reaches a cacophonous peak. Sonehso:wa is leaning against a column watching Anika and Catherine with his arms crossed over his chest and an extremely entertained expression on his face. He is the one person present who hasn't drunk himself into some kind of oblivion though he is probably the only one with a real reason to celebrate in such an excessive way.

Catherine and Anika seem to have finally exhausted their boundless energy for dancing to the music. They had been wild with their drunken dancing, taking turns being the leader as they had skipped and twirled across the room to the liveliest songs the musicians could play. At last the women had tired of their fun and had settled for laughing and talking quietly to each other next to where Connor is seated. Their arms are around each other and Anika is holding the bottle of rum Aveline had given to Connor hours ago by its neck. They had been sharing it with him but he had ended up having most of it. Their vivid dresses are almost too much for Connor to look at directly but they are the easiest people to watch due to their proximity, lack of movement and his slightly blurry vision. Connor can just hear their words from where he sits, slumped to some extent in the chair.

"Remember that time at the tavern when we were young? Oh, your father would have been so angry with us!"

"I know!" They disintegrate into giggles and have to clutch at each other so they don't fall down. Anika seems to become serious all of a sudden. Her eyes widen and her eyebrows rise up on her forehead.

"Cat! I don't know what I would have done without you and your father."

"Well, you probably wouldn't be here right now. And I wouldn't have such a wonderful sister to dance with... or a little niece or nephew on the way!" They hug each other tightly and Anika whispers loudly into Cat's ear.

"I love you so much!"

"I love you too, Ani. I'm proud that you're my sister."

"Oh, stop!" Cat laughs loudly and then leans back from Anika with her hands on her shoulders.

"Stop what? You're wonderful in so many ways! Kind, beautiful, generous..." Connor catches movement out of the corner of his eyes and he turns his head slightly. Dobby has lifted her head up from the table nearby and is watching Anika and Catherine with a look of utter impatient disgust on her face. She clearly finds their conversation inane. Too bad. Connor is enjoying seeing them so happy and having fun together. His attention is diverted back to the women when Catherine whispers loudly into Anika's ear.

"If your husband wasn't watching, I'd kiss you!" She titters softly after she says it.

"You would?"

"Oh, my, yes! You have the prettiest lips in the world. I think they've gotten prettier since… you know."

"I've always liked yours better." They giggle and touch their foreheads together. Slowly, they tilt their faces until their lips just touch. Connor is taken by surprise. He has heard of people of the same sex loving each other in the way a husband and wife do but he has never seen it happen. Something about it always seemed wrong to him but seeing Catherine and Anika kissing each other is both wrong and incredibly arousing. The women pull back and look at each other. They both seem a little confused by what they just did but then they smile at the same time and kiss again with a little more bravery. Sonehso:wa has taken a step away from the column and he is watching them both with his mouth open. He doesn't look angry or jealous. Instead, he looks enraptured. It is difficult for Connor not to want to see them both unclothed, kissing on the bed of the small cottage, and possibly doing other things to each other so he can only imagine what ideas are rolling though Sonehso:wa's head, especially after his lewd suggestion earlier. Connor banishes the thought. This is the wife of his brother he is thinking of in such a way and she is pregnant. That makes her a lifegiver and deserving of only the highest levels of honor and respect, not the lusty imaginings of men. Certainly not those of the men in this crowded room, either.

Dobby is leaning back in her chair, bracing herself against the table with both of her hands. She looks angry. Maybe it is just more disgust mixed with shock. Either way, Connor finds himself greatly amused at Dobby's discomfiture. She had been relentless with her torturing of Catherine and Anika and seeing her so horrified is quite entertaining. Anika's free hand is on Catherine's neck and they appear oblivious to the attention they are drawing. The number of other sailors, Assassins and island men who have taken note of their amorous, though certainly innocent and largely alcohol induced interactions, has grown. They are not among his people here and Connor knows the volatile nature of white men when they have had too much to drink. Connor stands up and steps behind Catherine. He feels a bit unsteady on his feet but he takes Catherine around her waist. Anika draws back and turns her head away, covering an embarrassed laugh with her hand.

"You are making the other men here jealous. Drink may make their eyes and hands too bold." He murmurs into her ear. He seems to have trouble getting away from the "m" sounds. They drag into the next word and make his tongue feel like it takes up too much space in his mouth. Catherine reaches back and slides her fingers into his hair.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to!" Connor sits down with Catherine on his lap. Anika happily waves to her as Sonehso:wa moves in quickly to usher his wife to a nearby bench. He plucks the bottle out of her hand and she clings to the back of his shirt as they walk. She laughs a little too loudly when she trips on her own skirt and Sonehso:wa has to hold her up.

Connor is still feeling aroused at the memory of Catherine and Anika kissing. He stops himself from thinking about that again and looks up only to find Dobby scowling at him. A sudden burst of irritation wells up in him and he finds himself extremely sick of her judging attitude. With a smile playing on his lips, he leans Catherine slightly to the side so she is ensconced against his left arm. Catherine gives him a low giggle and her head falls backward so she can look up at him.

"It's you who's jealous…!" she whispers coyly, reaching up to touch the side of his lips.

"I thought your kisses were only for me."

"Anika doesn't count!" Catherine laughs. Connor drops his right hand to her side and slides it down until his fingers curve over her hip. With a gasp, Catherine shifts her body slightly and Connor presses his fingers into her leg. He makes intentional eye contact with Dobby as he lowers his lips to Catherine's. Dobby's eyes are burning with covetous anger and Connor can't stop the smile that crosses his face at his selfish reward for behaving so uncharacteristically possessive and intimate in public. Catherine presses up into his kiss and he closes his eyes. His shoulders shake with mirth when he hears Dobby get up and walk away. Not very much later, Connor isn't surprised to see her being friendlier than ever with an inebriated Joseph and they leave the tavern together. Maybe she thinks bedding a man half her age will incite jealousy but Connor knows she is only stroking her own ego. He would have to struggle to work up anything other than amusement for her antics.

Connor and Catherine stumble through the door to their cottage, tugging at each other's clothes while kissing and tripping over towards the bed. They fall onto it and somehow manage to clumsily strip down to almost nothing. Their lovemaking doesn't last long, for they are both too drunk to manage their arousal beyond letting it happen. Catherine doesn't have much of a climax but she falls asleep quickly anyway beside Connor where he collapses onto the mattress after his own pleasure has been expended.

 

 

The smell of smoke wakes Catherine in the night. The sky is lit up orange and choking fumes fill the air. Connor is not in the bed but standing at the window as he is putting on his weapons. He turns to face Catherine.

"Get dressed and gather your things. Quickly." She pulls her old hide clothing on and hastily stuffs her new dress into a bag that also holds Connor's captain's outfit. Connor takes the bag and Catherine grabs his hat up off of the chair.

Outside, everyone is rushing out of the estate and Faulkner is shouting to get everyone onto the ships. Fire is spreading through the jungle, making a loud roaring, crackling, rushing noise and sending gusts of heated, dry air over the island. Thick, black suffocating smoke obliterates the night sky and blocks the light of the moon. Connor takes Catherine's hand and leads her down toward the docks. When they are below the thickest smoke, it becomes easier to breathe and they join the others who have already made their way down from the main house. Frightened islanders are pouring into the paths of the village, their calls and screams of fear joining together with the crying of terrified children and the shouts of those attempting to maintain order. With the relentless approach of the wildfire, everyone is compelled to make their way towards the docks where Faulkner and sailors from both vessels are directing them to board the ships. Connor sends Catherine, with Sonehso:wa and Anika, onto the  _Aquila,_ only to join them moments later to cast off from the docks.

The island burns rapidly and when the first thatch roofed house within sight of the harbor ignites, the islanders who had made this place their home for decades begin to weep and wail. The new wing of the estate is already burning and it soon spreads across to the rest. Over the crackling of the flames and puffs of searing, smoky air, the sounds of shattering glass and breaking beams reach the harbor. The many windows of the large house, once so inviting and beautiful, glow with the wicked and deadly breath of flames, becoming ghastly portals into hell. With a growing flare of orange, the roof of the estate begins to buckle and when it drops down into the cavernous, burned out structure the flames rise to towering, magnificent proportions; the destruction is complete.

As the smoke and flames spread rapidly from one thatch roofed structure to the next, they also creep inexorably closer to the water's edge. A shouted discussion between the captains of the two ships begins to take place.

"We need to pull out of here. We'll be burned to death or snuffed by the smoke!" Jean LaFitte shouts over to Connor.

"Not in the darkness of night, Captain. The channel is impossible to navigate unless the reefs can be seen."

"I refuse to die like this!"

"You will not. None of us will if we keep a steady calm."

"Are you implying I'm in hysterics like a woman?"

"No, Captain, but I will not allow you to shipwreck yourself and everyone on board in a hasty act of fear." Jean splutters and Aveline approaches. The sounds of weeping and level of general panic had risen as the two men had been shouting. She speaks softly to him.

"Captain, Connor speaks wisely. We're safer waiting out the smoke until morning. Look around you. No one is dying." She gestures to the people gathered together in clusters of families and friends. The sailors and Assassins are among the people, speaking with them and offering condolences, water and bits of cloth to cover their mouths and noses. Jean pushes her away rudely. His voice rises to a higher pitch.

"I will not be commanded by you, Assassin! This is my ship!" Aveline's mouth hardens and she grabs him by his coat. He grasps her hands and attempts to wrench away from her but she walks him to the side of the ship and surreptitiously extends her blade, holding it to his neck.

"And I am the one who hired you. You will do as Connor says and you'll do it without complaint or question." Josiah appears by her side out of the darkness. He has a length of fabric looped over his shoulders and pulled up so only his eyes are visible, reflecting the flames.

"Is there trouble here?" He asks, his deep voice commanding attention. Jean looks between his hulking form and Aveline's blade. She tilts her head at him and he holds his hands up in a placating gesture.

"No. There is no trouble…" Josiah crosses his arms and glances at Aveline.

"Good." Aveline retracts her blade and releases Jean.

"Thank you, Captain. That will be all, then." Jean stalks off toward his cabin, grumbling, and Pierre joins him, closing the door behind them.

"Aveline, I hope he will not be trouble in the future."

"Hmm. I do too but I doubt hope is enough with him." Aveline crosses to the side of the ship facing the  _Aquila_  and Connor is waiting for her return.

"The captain is much more agreeable to your plan now."

"That is good, Aveline. It would not do for there to be disagreement between us." His tone of voice is guarded and Aveline nods in response. They face each other for a moment longer in the flickering light of the burning village and both of them know they will need to discuss this at length, away from the ears of those around them. Until then, they must wait on their separate vessels.

When the sun rises, everyone sleepily gathers on the decks of the two ships to view the damage. The hillside is a devastated swath of grey and black, clouded by smoking debris and the foliage is gone, rendering the landscape into an alien place filled with jagged rocks and shifting ash. Any palms that are still standing end in blunted points with no fronds remaining on them. Not a single structure that wasn't made of earth or stone remains. Parts of the once grand estate remain but it is a blackened, ruined shell of its former glory.

Around the two ships, now anchored away from the docks in the middle of the harbor, the water is coated in a film of black soot that has settled on its surface. It moves with the slow rippling calm of low tide and shadows the once tranquil beauty of the harbor. More ash filters from the sky like sickly snow and dusts the decks of the ships and everyone on them. Hollow eyed and stripped of hope, no one weeps now and the silence adds to the eerie desolation of a once thriving community. Its history has been erased.


	23. Siege

Most of the tavern is intact except for the wall that faces the hillside, which is charred on one corner and blackened by smoke. Aside from the docks, it is the only structure spared from the fire. The two ships are moved back to their places to allow the people to disembark and begin digging though the wreckage of their village. The oldest children join their parents and other adults as they rummage through the blackened ruins, collecting together the few things that can be salvaged from what remains of their homes. Many gather on the docks or settle themselves at the scattered chairs and tables belonging to the tavern, not bothering to dust them off before using them. Some of the women with young children and all of the few elderly occupants of the village, like the woman who had begun her days as a young, teenaged prostitute on the island in 1718 but had changed her life completely over the long decades, sit and stare at the hillside with an empty despondence. Catherine and Anika sit with her and the others for some time, bringing over cups of water and making sure they eat something even if their hearts are too broken to taste the sweetness of an orange or the salty bite of dried meat. The children too young to understand the gravity of the situation totter around, playing with the edges of their mother's clothing or drawing with their fingers in the soot that coats every surface. The older ones are generally as quiet as the adults, afraid because everyone else is and doing their best not to cry.

Behind the estate and through a cave in the hillside are the extensive caverns beneath the mansion. Once used to store pirate treasure and items of value, over time it had simply become a place to put unneeded items and extra supplies. When the bedrooms had been added onto the estate, much of the things had been moved out, leaving a dusty, unused space. It is one of the only places to have been untouched by the heat and fire so the men of the village begin to encourage the people to set up living spaces inside. It will do for a temporary shelter until they can begin to rebuild their community and the women quickly descend on it, cleaning it out and giving themselves something to focus on as a distraction from their woes. The only place they stay clear of is the rubble that has collapsed down into the staircase leading up to the estate. Tumbled bricks, mortar and half burned beams fill the area and for now, it is better left alone.

Connor and Aveline organize a scouting party to hike into the burned jungle in search of any clues to the origin of the fire. It had not been stormy so lightening, the most common natural cause, is already ruled out. No one who had seen it can stop thinking of the ship that had dogged their travels. The memory of it as well as the odd behavior of the captain and his dead crewmember haunt them as they enter the scorched tropical forest.

Sonehso:wa, Connor and Josiah take the lead heading north, followed by Aveline, Faulkner, Ambrose, Clipper and Dobby. Their feet kick up puffs of ash and the bitter stench of burned vegetation is strong. From time to time, billows of smoke cross the path they follow between high, rocky outcroppings, obliterating the view of the area around them. It blocks even the sight of the nearest person until the prevailing island breeze sends it wafting away. Everyone is equipped with thick layers of fabric they can raise over their mouths and noses to keep out the worst of it but there is inevitably coughing each time it happens as their already taxed lungs from the night before are assaulted anew. Soot and ash from the singed branches of crumbling bushes cling to their skin, clothing and boots and the farther they trek, the higher the blackness smears their ankles and legs. There is nothing to see other than the burned remains of palms and the formerly lush surroundings so the three men in the lead forge ahead at a jog until they reach a beach on what appears to be the other side of the island. Off in the distance to the west, they catch sight of palm trees bearing fronds. The sight of something green and beautiful set against the pristine azure of the sea is a balm to their stinging, aching eyes after an unending palette of dismal black and grey.

The sand is turned up by many footprints and the remains of a small bonfire near the edge of the jungle still give off enough warmth to be felt on a hand held over the ashes. Wide, deep tracks make long, straight trails from the edge of the charred earth and across the sand towards the water. Each wide path is flanked by a set of deep footprints. Sonehso:wa kneels down beside one of the many tracks to examine it and the footprints.

"These tracks are strange. They were not made by something being dragged across the sand. Whatever it was, it was here less than a day ago; the tracks are fresh." Connor and Josiah move around to the other, similar tracks. While they are looking at them, the others arrive and cautiously move around the areas Connor, Sonehso:wa and Josiah are inspecting.

"Barrels were rolled here. Two men to each one." Josiah announces from where he crouches next to another track and Connor and Sonehso:wa nod their heads in agreement.

"They must have been heavy. Look how deep the footprints are, especially the front of each one…" Connor muses.

Faulkner is walking the water's edge and he shouts over to Connor, Aveline, Josiah and Sonehso:wa.

"Captain! Ms. De Grandpre! You better get yer arses over here." When they reach Faulkner, he's standing with his arms crossed. Clipper, Ambrose and Dobby jog over to join then.

"There can be no doubt about it now, lads… and lasses. This was intentional. See this?" He toes a lump of sticky, black substance coated in sand with his boot."

"Pitch!" Connor says with a quiet anger rising in his voice. He looks back at the many tracks in the sand.

"Barrels of it!"

"Aye. Enough to burn an island to the ground from the looks of it... and anyone on it." Faulkner agrees solemnly. Aveline sighs.

"That ship we saw yesterday morning. It truly was following us. It was the only ship in sight and it was close enough to see which island we went to."

"Why would they follow us? I thought no one was seen." Josiah says as he tucks his thumbs under the heavy leather straps crossing his chest. Connor shakes his head.

"You are correct. No one was seen… There is only one man who could have informed someone of our location or instructed anyone to follow us. He is dead now and we cannot ask him."

"The sailor! I have no doubt Jean and Pierre used him to reach Martinez… on our own mission, no less. They're playing us for fools!" Aveline hisses.

"Well, no matter who did this is long gone by now. We should consider ourselves lucky that they didn't linger to see who came out of the harbor and blast us to pieces." Faulkner interjects, spreading the fingers of both hands out in the direction of the scorched island. Connor crosses his arms and stares down at the ground. He seems to speak to himself.

"Sergio sent men to do this. I saw certificates of sale for shipbuilding supplies at the fort which included hundreds of barrels of pitch." Faulkner narrows his eyes.

"Good for sealing leaks and waterproofing hulls but also good for burning. I say we sink this bastard!" Connor lifts his head at Faulkner's angry words.

"We will. But from now on, this mission is Assassin business only. If the LaFitte brothers are seeking to undermine us, they could have revealed more than just our location to Sergio. As soon as we are back at the village we will assign watches on them."

"They'll bring us nothing but trouble." Dobby mumbles, irritated.

"I do not doubt it but we cannot take action against them yet. We need their ship and their men to attack Sergio's fort and fleet. I do not want a mutiny or a slaughter on our hands before we even leave the harbor. They will know only what we tell them from now on, nothing more."

"Then what do we tell them? What do we tell the villagers? They will look to us for answers." Ambrose asks. Clipper speaks up.

"Tell them it was an accident. Some hapless fishermen, camping on the beach for the night didn't control their fire and it must have lit some dry tinder nearby. That fire pit is close enough to the edge of the trees for something like that to happen." Connor frowns and squints over at the fire pit.

"I do not like the idea of intentionally deceiving the people who live here."

"It's for their safety. Who knows what those two idiots on the _L'Etoile Polaire_ are capable of if provoked! There's nothing more dangerous than a fool with a loaded gun." Dobby argues and Aveline nods her head.

"She's right, Connor. I don't like it either but until we can resolve this, all of it, we can't risk anything else bad happening to these people." To Connor's surprise, Sonehso:wa adds his voice to the argument.

"We can smooth over the tracks in the sand and make our own false ones. The rain that comes each afternoon will wear down the marks and make them impossible to read." Connor rubs his soot smudged face with his hands as everyone watches him, waiting for his final word on the matter.

"We will do this false thing. But I must speak with Alonso of what really happened here. The people must eventually learn that we sail to fight for them as well."

"Speaking of which…" Aveline prompts.

"We must strike first. Perhaps they believe us dead or disabled. They have hours on us, but if we act quickly we can end this. We will use LaFitte's ship for additional firepower but do not lower your guard for a moment in case he plans on betraying us in a more obvious way." Connor gestures as he speaks, meeting the eyes of each one in his company.

"No time like the present," is Aveline's steady reply.

Before they leave the beach, they smooth out the compressed barrel tracks and all but one of the marks of a dinghy scarring the shore. The lump of pitch is tossed into the firepit, and once some red embers are exposed and fanned, the pitch ignites and burns away, leaving no evidence of the arson committed in the night.

At the tavern, Jean and Pierre LaFitte are waiting for the Assassins' return. Jean seems almost disappointed at their report.

"That's it? Some careless imbecile caused all of this? I expected something more worth the time we've wasted while you traipse about in the wilderness. And now you want to rush back and attack the fort? You're all fools and I am as well for signing up for this." He glares at Aveline as he walks away, shouting in French at his men when they don't move out of his way fast enough. The room is silent when he is gone until Stephane speaks up.

"That went well…" His humor dispels the tension and Connor gathers his crewmen around. He orders barrels of water and preserved food, wooden beams, sailcloth, a crate full of spare weaponry including guns and swords, a supply of ammunition and gunpowder and several large coils of spare rope to be offloaded to the island, providing additional supplies for the people while also lightening the _Aquila_ 's load. Pierre isn't so generous with his brother's supplies and instead of offering anything to help the people, he merely leans his chair back against the wall and smokes his pipe. By the late afternoon, the weight on the _Aquila_ has been redistributed and they are ready to leave.

Up on the hill overlooking the bay side ruins, Connor and Aveline speak privately with Alonso, the islander who has taken a leading role in maintaining order amid the chaos of starting over. He is a sinewy man in his forties, of average height with tanned skin and short, black hair. Deep smile lines mark his face. The happiness in his features had only just returned after concern and ire had darkened his countenance while he had been informed of the truth regarding the destruction of the island. He levels his gaze at the two Assassin leaders, saying more with his expression than his words.

"Your help has been invaluable, Connor. I believe I speak for everyone when I wish you success. Aveline, as always, you are welcome here any time. Both of you." Alonso takes Aveline's small hands in both of his and holds them together gently in his cupped palms, as if they are a delicate dove.

"We sail for Santiago de Cuba. There is nothing more we can do here and lingering any longer only gives our enemy a chance to slip away. I will send ships with more supplies as soon as I am able." Connor assures him. Alonso releases Aveline's hands and looks at Connor.

"You need not worry about us. We have already begun to restock our food supplies by collecting fruit and cassava from the western side of the island. There are plenty of fish to be caught. We will rebuild."

"All the same, I will feel better knowing you and your people are provided for and protected."

"Then I will await your ships and men. By the time they get here we will have a palace to host them in!" His positivity lightens the moment and Aveline shares his smile. Alonso walks with them from the ruins of the estate down to the pier where their Brotherhood is waiting. Aveline collects Catherine and Anika, who are rather reluctant to leave the sides of the more distressed islanders they had been keeping company with until Alonso joins them and assures them they will be well provided for and protected.

"Safe travels, my friends!" He raises his right hand in a farewell gesture as they climb the ramps of their respective ships.

The two ships cast off from the docks and the people of the village gather on the rocky beach to wave. They call out words of encouragement after them and the Assassins stand at the sides of the ships to wave back and return their thanks and well wishes. Catherine finds herself choked up as, among the crowd, she finds the faces of the people she and Anika had befriended in their short stay on the island. She waves to them, knowing that the coming weeks and months will be trying as they rebuild their homes and lives. Connor is occupied with navigating the _Aquila_ but he takes a moment to look over at the villagers and acknowledge their well wishes.

It isn't long before they are once again on the open sea. They sail with the setting sun off the starboard side until they round the island of Inagua and turn directly West. Faulkner takes the wheel and Connor steps to the rail. He calls everyone to the deck and informs them of what they really discovered on the other side of the island.

"We travel now to fight for freedom, but also to vindicate the people of Heneagua. They did not deserve to lose their homes because of another man's greed. Use caution brothers! The captain of _L'Etoile Polaire_ is not one of us; he and his brother have betrayed us all. We work together on this mission only because we need the firepower. The LaFitte brothers will be brought to justice but until then, watch your words and trust only the Brotherhood!" The sailors and Assassins listen with solemnity to Connor's announcement. He makes eye contact with his faithful crew and raises his voice for his concluding words.

"The _Aquila_ sails to battle, men! Together, we will bring down yet another Templar foe!" A mighty cheer rises from the gathered crowd and the crew disperses to return to their duties with purposeful strides and animated enthusiasm. Catherine smiles at Connor from where she stands on the stairs leading up to the stern deck and he returns it as he retakes the wheel from Faulkner.

The ships stay within easy sight of each other for the most part and they keep their lanterns lit as they sail through the night. It is a relatively calm time but there is an acute sense of unease among everyone as they know the peaceful feeling will not last much longer. Catherine and Anika settle into the routine of staying out of everyone's way when they are on deck and often retreat to the very back of the ship behind Connor and Faulkner when they wish to take some air.

Connor comes to the captain's cabin in the early afternoon of the first full day at sea after leaving Inagua. Catherine and Anika are both inside and are pleasantly surprised by his visit when they answer his knock. Just as when they had travelled South from New York, the cabin had become theirs completely when Connor did not need to use his desk and he had never intruded on it.

"Captain! What an honor! Please come in." Anika laughs. Catherine smiles at her humor but it's obvious Connor has something of importance on his mind or he would not have come to them at such an odd time.

"Thank you, Anika… WildCat." Only the smallest of smiles bends the corners of his mouth upwards as he looks between the two women. He ducks his head as he steps through the door, making sure his hat clears the lintel.

"I wanted to speak with you before things become… more difficult." Catherine pulls out the chair to the desk and indicates that Connor should sit down. He takes off his hat and restlessly turns it in his hands once he is seated. Anika and Catherine sit on the edge of the bed facing him and wait patiently for him to speak. Connor looks at them both before dropping his eyes back to his hat.

"I had not intended for either of you to be anywhere near what we will be encountering. I expect we will be engaged in a battle before the morning comes and I am sorry I could not keep you both safely away from it." Catherine sits straighter and takes a breath as if to speak but Anika squeezes her hand so she remains silent. Connor looks up at each of them and his sorrowful eyes capture their attention.

"You both know we will be firing upon Sergio's fort and ships in an attempt to cripple his fleet and end his plans." The women nod together and Connor's eyes flit to their joined hands before returning to their faces.

"While we will be safe in the beginning, for our attack will not be expected, it will not be long before he organizes and fires back. The fort is equipped with almost fifty cannons on the walls and a huge stockpile of heavy shot. The _Aquila_ is not immune to cannon fire and though she has weathered many such battles before, the safest place for you both will not be on deck or even in here." His hands separate and he gestures with them both to indicate the captain's cabin.

"Where should we be?" Catherine asks him.

"I want you in the hold. It is below the water line and the hull will protect you from the possibility of being struck by anything."

"Cannon balls can't break through there?" Anika asks, her eyes wide with concern.

"The hull is reinforced to prevent that from happening but it would not withstand a concentrated amount of fire in one place over and over. No ship could, no matter how strong it is." Anika and Catherine exchange a glance and then Catherine speaks up.

"I'm sure that won't happen…" Connor shakes his head.

"It will not." He pauses for a moment and places his hat on the desk. Leaning forward and extending his hands toward the women, he speaks earnestly.

"I do not say this to make you feel fear. I am confident in the success of our mission but I must do what I can to keep you both safe." He glances at Anika and down at her stomach before returning to her face.

"And your baby."

"Of course. We'll gladly do as you ask." Connor nods at Catherine's assurance and sits back in the chair, evidently relieved that they agreed to his wishes so easily. He takes a deep breath as if to sigh but lets it out slowly instead. Anika stands and clasps her hands in front of her body. Connor lifts his head to look at her as she speaks.

"Your efforts to keep us safe are not unappreciated. Sonehso:wa would have us do the same if you didn't."

"Yes. I do know this of my brother. And he would die a hundred ways if it would save you and the child of your belly." Connor agrees. Anika raises her hand to cover her heart. Catherine smiles and reaches out across the space toward him. He takes her hand and looks at the slender fingers that are almost lost in his grip. Her voice is soft when she speaks.

"My love. No matter how much I want to be there by your side, I wouldn't be able to help you. I don't know enough of sailing to not be in the way. You're right to want this." Catherine adds, earning a smile from Connor's eyes, if not his mouth. She gets up and he starts to stand as well and Catherine catches his lapels to kiss his cheek before he's fully upright. He reaches to her face and winds a stray tendril of her hair around his finger before letting it free in front of her ear.

"I need to continue with preparations. I will inform you when you must go below." Anika hands him his hat and touches his wrist when he takes it.

"Thank you." She says with a smile. Connor nods at her in a solemn, deferential manner and then walks to the door and exits. Anika turns to Catherine where she is still staring at the closed door and wringing her hands.

"Such a serious man…"

"He has much on his mind, Ani. Our presence is a burden to him."

"Well, we'll be safe _and_ out of the way now."

"That won't stop him from worrying about us. He hates the thought of a woman being harmed, and you're with child now. Your baby is his responsibility too."

"It's mine and Sonehso:wa's."

"But as my sister, you and your children are his responsibility, just as Sonehso:wa views me the same."

"You're more Sonehso:wa's responsibility than I am Ratonhnhake:ton's. He has no legal tie to you."

"Do you really think that matters to him?" Anika smiles and shakes her head, knowing full well Connor has viewed Catherine as his wife for months.

"Probably not."

The sun sets slowly in a cloudless sky as the two ships sail onward toward its core. Its titian radiance illuminates the _Aquila_ and _L'Etoile Polaire_ in a golden cast of brilliance- the last bit of peaceful beauty before the sky will be lit by the deadly blooms of cannon fire. The edge of Cuba's landmass had been within their sight all day and now they sail along its southern coast, far enough away that it is but an indistinct shore but close enough to turn in and reach the fort at the precise moment they wish. Anika and Catherine don't think they will be able to sleep with all the tension in the air but they both start awake when a knock sounds on the cabin door. Sonehso:wa doesn't wait for them to answer before opening the door, stepping inside and closing it behind him. He carries a shuttered lantern which casts a small amount of directed light at the floor.

"You must rise and ready yourselves to go below." The women tumble from the bunk. They had both decided to sleep fully dressed so there is nothing for them to do but put on their woven slippers and follow him out the door. Outside, he closes the shutter on the lantern and they cross the deck by the light of the moon. The two ships are much closer to the shore but the sails are still fully out and harvesting the wind just as much as before. Catherine casts her eyes around, looking for Connor but she doesn't find him either at the wheel or on the deck.

"What time is it?" Anika asks.

"Only two or three hours before dawn. Ratonhnhake:ton hopes to strike before the sun rises." Is Sonehso:wa's soft answer.

To Catherine's relief, Connor meets them at the bottom of the stairs in the crew's quarters.

"Good. You are here." He takes a nearby lantern and leads them deeper into the ship. The gun decks are full of sailors busily readying the cannons and checking their supplies of shot and gunpowder. The small group of four continues below into the dark cargo area. Sonehso:wa opens his lantern and holds it high to illuminate the blackness around them. None of Catherine's targets are up anymore since so much cargo had been moved and redistributed for the repair of the _Aquila_ and subsequent supplying of the villagers. It seems Connor had not been satisfied with just putting Anika and Catherine in the hold. He also had some of the biggest crates moved so they create a niche they can sit in that will be protected on three sides with iron hull reinforcements.

"If all goes well, you should not have to stay down here for very long. No matter what happens, unless the hold begins to take on water, do not come up until someone gets you." Beside Connor's and Sonehso:wa's rolled up sleeping mats and a flat chest that had been placed inside the enclosure is Catherine's bow and quiver, a loaded pistol and Connor's hunting knife. Catherine picks up the knife and faces Connor with an apprehensive question in her eyes as he places the lantern he carries on the floor.

"If the worst happens and the ship is taken you must defend yourselves. You are capable of it, WildCat, you have done it before." Catherine looks at the knife in her hand and then takes a step closer to Connor and lowers her voice to a whisper.

"I would rather die than be captured by Sergio's men. I don't wish to experience their hospitality again."

"It is most unlikely to come to that but I cannot leave you with nothing down here when I must be up above." Connor raises his hands toward Catherine and she moves quickly to embrace him. The thought of everyone she has come to care for so much on this ship- the Assassins, the sailors- being overrun by Sergio's men and brutally slaughtered right above their heads makes Catherine both angry and terribly frightened. The things that they would do to her and Anika once they are in their clutches are too horrifying to think of. Catherine decides in that moment that if it comes down to being captured or dying, she'll use her last arrow on Anika first and then the gun on herself. By then, Sonehso:wa and Connor would be dead anyway and there would be nowhere they could run to. It would the only merciful thing to do. A shiver runs through her body and Connor tightens his arms around her and speaks into her hair.

"Stop thinking about what could go wrong. Nothing is going to happen." He kisses her head and caresses her back. Catherine realizes that she is gripping the back of Connor's coat tightly with her left hand and clenching her fist on the handle of the knife. She slows her breathing and lets the soothing motion of Connor's hands calm her. Connor moves her away and touches his lips softly to her mouth before resting his face against hers with his forehead and nose matching up with Catherine's. He whispers to her.

"It will all be over soon." Catherine nods slightly and closes her eyes as Connor kisses her forehead and then her mouth, lingering with his lips against hers. When they break apart, Connor smoothes her hair back from her face with his fingers.

"I love you, Catherine, my fearless WildCat." His use of gentle humor is charming, all the more because it is genuine and heartfelt.

"As I love you, Ratonhnhake:ton." He gives her one last kiss before they part and together they wait for Sonehso:wa and Anika to conclude their interaction. They, too, are kissing and whispering to each other. Anika leans back from Sonehso:wa and he reaches down and spreads his right hand over the subtle roundness of her belly in both an endearing and protective gesture. She covers his hand with hers and they exchange another kiss. At last they separate and Sonehso:wa reaches for a section of Anika's hair to lovingly run his fingers down it. As the last strand slips from his fingertips and falls against her chest, he turns to Connor and nods.

"I am ready to fight with you, brother."

"Then let us go." Sonehso:wa takes up his lantern and the two men walk toward the hold staircase and out of sight. Anika takes her sister's hand.

"How can they not be afraid?" she whispers as she grips Catherine's hand tightly.

"They are but they just don't show it. Do you think they would have gone through so much trouble for us if they weren't? They're warriors, Ani. This is what they do." The two women place the lantern Connor left for them on the chest and spread out the sleeping rolls. The men's blankets are rolled up inside and they make themselves as comfortable as they can with their backs against one of the crates of iron plating. Neither of them believe they could actually sleep but as time passes, unchanging in light, sound or motion, the women settle further under the blankets and eventually drift off to the ceaseless creaking and rocking of the ship and muffled sounds of people moving overhead.

Connor's urgent command is passed among the crew and the sails are quickly furled until the _Aquila_ slows in the water to an easily maneuverable speed. _L'Etoile Polaire_ slows as well where she runs a parallel tack on the _Aquila_ 's port side and the two ships stealthily approach the fort at Santiago de Cuba just as the first tendrils of dawn begin to lighten the very farthest edge of the eastern horizon. The fort's bright braziers cast long lines of golden orange across the many low ripples of the ocean below its high walls. Connor can just make out Aveline in the prow of her ship, scanning the walls with her spyglass. The place appears as quiet as when they had first been there but a trace of uneasy tension makes Connor raise his glass as well. Is it possible that the place is too quiet? Is he correct to think Sergio truly believes they are all dead from the fire? He would be a fool to count on it so he scans the upper levels of the fortress where most of the men had been. There is nothing out of the ordinary so Connor closes and pockets his glass. Turning to the people under his command, he takes the wheel back from Faulkner.

"Ready the starboard guns! Brothers! Get belowdecks!" Connor shouts. The Assassins quickly obey Connor, retreating to the crew deck to be out of the way of the sailors while they work. Sonehso:wa goes with them, though he is still seething with irritation at Connor ordering him to stay out of the rigging. They had had a brief argument about it, switching to their native tongue to keep anyone from knowing what they were disagreeing about. Despite his intense frustration, Sonehso:wa had not wanted to bring question upon Connor's authority to captain his ship or spread doubt among his crew. The words Connor had spoken that had finally persuaded him to back down still ring in his mind.

"I have seen what damage is done to a man when he is hit by a cannon ball or the pieces of a ship hit by one. It is worse than any musket fire or weapon is capable of and I will not have you suffer that fate. Think of your wife! And listen to me, your brother, for _once_!"

The _Aquila_ is extremely close to the shore when Connor raises his fist in the grey of very early dawn.

"Fire!" A deafening roar fills the air as the upper level of the _Aquila_ 's starboard cannons are fired, sending fifteen rounds of shot speeding towards the towering fortress. Smoke belches from the mouths of the cannons, drifts along the side of the ship, curls over her railings and swirls around Connor's feet as he waits for the impact. Several cannon balls fly true, hitting the walls of the fort where it sits on the fourth tier of the promontory levels. Rock and debris are flung into the air and soar outwards from the stony wall, shattering windows and fracturing mortar. The cracking sounds of impact carry across the water to the _Aquila_ only a moment later. A few of the cannon balls fall short of their mark but still land among the other levels, scattering sand and tiles across the open spaces. The remaining shot lands among the rocks of the cliffside beach or are lost among the waves.

Faulkner bellows directions down at the crewmen to adjust the guns appropriately. The _Aquila_ is crossing the inlet opening when Connor orders the lower starboard volley fired. This time, his aim is for the walls above the western side of the cliffs and the cannons that dot them. A bell begins to clang on a level high above and Connor spins the wheel of the _Aquila_ to bring her about. _L'Etoile Polaire_ hangs back, awaiting Connor's command from where she is afloat farther away from shore.

"Ready the port guns! Prepare for retaliation!" As soon as the _Aquila_ has turned and Connor straightens her out to retrace his bearing back toward the fog of smoke that drifts along the surface of the water, he braces the wheel with his knee and lifts his spyglass to survey the damage. It isn't nearly enough and he watches as a flood of men run along the walls, loading cannons, moving them into position and setting trajectories. It seems Sergio had indeed kept his men in a state of readiness.

Catherine and Anika are both jolted awake by the thunderous firing of the cannons. They clutch at each other in the darkness until Catherine has the presence of mind to raise the wick of the lantern.

"My God, I thought our lives were forfeit!" Anika cries as she looks around their little shelter. Only a moment after the enclosed space is flooded with lantern light, a second explosion rocks the ship and reverberates around them, making their teeth rattle in their skulls. It is even louder than the first, coming from the deck directly over their heads. Gunpowder, sand and dust sift down like snow flurries from the cracks between the floorboards.

Anika scrambles to her knees and holds her hands over her ears. Catherine kneels beside her and does the same. They take their hands away when the _Aquila_ leans hard to port in a sharp turn. The men above are reloading the cannons up above and the sound of rapid footsteps and heavy, iron wheels grating across the floorboards is loud but the lack of usual banter is foreboding. A collective racket of over a dozen heavy guns being returned to their places at the starboard portholes are followed by silence as the level of the ship evens out. A faint, muffled shout up above warns the women and they barely have time to cover their ears before the next explosions erupt, making them jump despite expecting it. Each blast feels as if it will tear the ship apart yet it somehow holds together.

The _Aquila_ 's barrage of cannon fire knocks one of the men wielding an open flame into a stockpile of gunpowder. The resulting explosion displaces two cannons, sends several men high into the air and opens a huge crater in the walls of the fourth tier and the side of the fortress building. Connor orders the second set of port cannons fired almost immediately to take advantage of the confusion. Massive chunks of brick and mortar fall away from the weakened uppermost walls and crash down onto the level below on top of the rubble that has already collected there. Much of it tumbles down the steep embankment and lands on the second level, leaving deep, white scars in the dense vegetation but it doesn't stop the enemy cannons on the two lowest tiers from being fired. The blasts of multiple cannons ring out and hazy smoke emanates from each one. Sergio's men have a higher vantage point from the fort that affords them a good firing angle and the cannon balls arc over the ocean and come at them from above.

"Brace!" Connor screams into the wind as he grips the wheel of the _Aquila_ and drops down onto one knee on the deck. Faulkner is instantly down beside him as several cannon balls hurtle over their heads, filling the air as they pass with a low, eerie whistle. Connor grits his teeth with a quiet groan at the crack of splintering wood and the shouts of his crew. When he stands back up, Connor surveys his ship and is relieved to see that there is no real damage. A small section of railing is broken away and the resulting shards of wood are scattered across the deck. One of the sailors plucks a fragment from his arm, tosses it aside and continues to haul on his rope, ignoring the blood that runs down his skin and drips onto his leg. Connor spins the wheel hard to starboard, turning once again for a third attack on the fort.

"Take out those cannons!" Connor shouts at his two men on the swivel guns. The sailors fire off several rounds as quickly as they can, the most effective shots landing close to or on the fort's armaments and the less accurate hits striking the stone and mortar around them, turning broken bricks into gravelly projectiles that scatter the men manning their weapons. Screams from the injured men sound thin and tinny at such a distance.

The ship comes about more slowly than the first time and Connor spots the sails of Sergio's schooners as they emerge one by one from the inlet up ahead. Provided it is not simply an escape attempt, an imminent engagement is now unavoidable. Connor knew this would be the result of a frontal attack to the fort and it is why he had insisted on keeping the LaFitte brothers by his side.

"Hoist the lanterns!" Connor's order is flung upward toward the top of main mast and quickly, two large lanterns with red glass in them are lit and hung from the sides of the crow's nest. _L'Etoile Polaire_ 's sails fall open at the pre-arranged signal and she immediately begins a path of interception towards the incoming schooners. Connor fires two more rounds of shot toward the fort in an attempt to cripple as many of their wall defenses as possible before turning his attention to the approaching ships. Bearing a total of twelve guns, _L'Etoile Polaire_ is no more or less equipped for a fight than any single one of the other ships but six against one would be over in mere minutes.

"Full sail! Gunners, take aim at the schooners!" Connor is splitting his attention in three directions. The fort is no longer his priority but it is still a threat, so he keeps an eye out for any assault from it as he works at turning the _Aquila_ toward the incoming ships and keeps track of where they seem to be maneuvering. Faulkner is raving beside Connor, clenching the railing in both of his hands or banging his fist on it as he shouts at the sailors scrambling for every last scrap of speed they can coax out of the sails.

"Come on, ya lubs! Full sail! What are ya waitin' for? They'll be sinkin' into the drink before we even catch a breath a wind!" The _L'Etoile Polaire_ is within firing distance of the first schooner and both ships turn west so their broadside cannons face each other. The second of Sergio's schooners turns almost as soon as the first, heading in the opposite direction of its leader and though its path will take it toward the _Aquila_ the intent is clearly to flank _L'Etoile Polaire_ and fire on her from the other side. It is a slow and dangerous dance that will play out before the _Aquila_ is near enough to tip the balance.

Cannons rumble and the sound echoes between the rocky outcroppings of Cuba's coast. A plume of smoke congeals between the two ships, making it difficult for Connor to discern the level of damage each one had sustained. The second schooner fires moments later, hitting the stern of _L'Etoile Polaire_ with the full complement of its six broadside cannons. She is enveloped in dark, smoldering clouds and Connor raises his arm and swings it forward toward the second schooner that is right in their path.

"Cripple her main!" The two gunners fire chain shot high into her sails. The main mast breaks one third of the way from the top and falls downward, tearing sailcloth, snapping rigging and swinging alongside its lower portion before breaking free and crashing onto the deck. A mighty cheer erupts among the _Aquila_ 's crew as Connor steers to the right of the disabled ship where she flounders in the water. The captain shakes his fist at them and orders his men to fire upon the _Aquila._ Connor's larger ship takes a direct hit to her port bow but the schooner's scanty munitions are easily deflected by Connor's armored vessel. The wood will need to be repaired but the hull remains largely unaffected by such a paltry assault. The damage to his crew is somewhat worse, for several bursts of shattered wood had been blasted across the deck and a multitude of pieces had been embedded into the main mast, crates secured to the deck and men alike.

"Slow and come about!" Faulkner bellows as Connor spins the wheel relentlessly to bring the _Aquila_ alongside the first two of the four other ships in Sergio's fleet as they emerge from the inlet. He only has once chance with each deck on the starboard side to cause as much damage as possible. He spaces his commands so that each broadside is precisely aimed at only one ship at a time, ensuring that every cannon ball hits its target. The moment the second starboard broadside is fired, Connor veers the _Aquila_ away from the two untouched schooners in the rear of the lineup to avoid sailing within their attack range. They turn out of their linear formation and give chase, opening up their sails fully. Their smaller size gives them a speed advantage over the _Aquila_ so Connor deftly maneuvers among the entire group of ships at the mouth of the inlet. _L'Etoile Polaire_ has succeeded in crippling the first ship enough that it can no longer attack but the second has continued to fire upon her at every opportunity despite its inability to navigate the choppy waters. Much of _L'Etoile Polaire_ 's hull is riddled with damage but she moves steadily west along the southern coast of Cuba and out of reach of her stationary attacker.

The two schooners Connor had fired upon are still sailing, though one is taking on water and the other is hanging back while their two undamaged fleet members advance. Out of the corner of his view when he glances behind, Connor catches sight of the large white sails of the _Fenix de Oro_ making her way towards the mouth of the inlet. The _Aquila_ is already passing _L'Etoile Polaire_ on her starboard side and it is too late to change direction now or Connor will risk hitting either her or the rocky coastline so he is forced to continue sailing further west until he has enough room to turn his ship.

The _Fenix de Oro_ is a magnificent ship. Her four masts proudly display their many gleaming white sails and she has a sleek and shining profile as she cuts neatly through the water. She heads south east, away from the battle at the inlet, and when Connor hands off the wheel to Faulkner to raise his spyglass he can clearly see the captain and first mate busily commanding their enormous crew. Another man stands beside them, aiming a spyglass back at Connor. He is dressed in dark clothing from hat to boots and though Connor has never seen him before the authoritative manner in which he is standing and the way he clenches his hands by his sides and lifts his chin when he lowers his glass takes away any doubt that he is the very man they have been seeking. Connor takes the wheel again but is forced to wait helplessly for the opportune moment to turn the _Aquila_ without putting _L'Etoile Polaire_ at risk. Every second he has to wait is more time Sergio has to escape.

The two undamaged schooners come under fire from _L'Etoile Polaire_ 's gunners as they attempt to cut off the _Aquila_ 's maneuverability and run her aground but both ships fire back with their swivel guns. To Connor's dismay, they succeed in rendering _L'Etoile Polaire_ 's sails useless and breeching her hull before they even get close enough to exchange broadsides. _L'Etoile Polaire_ slows, her tattered sails losing the wind completely and forcing her to come to a sluggish stop. She founders in the waves and her crew runs frantically over the deck to climb the rigging and cut the damaged sails away despite the hopeless condition of the ship. Aveline is at the prow waving to the _Aquila_. Connor is unable to understand what she is shouting but her repetitive gestures toward the four-masted schooner gaining more and more distance from them in every passing moment make her concerns clear. Sergio is getting away.

At last, Connor can turn his ship. The crippling of _L'Etoile Polaire_ is the only reason he can turn so soon and he feels both gratitude and regret for it. He spins the wheel to port as far as it will go while Faulkner continues to shout and rumble at the crew despite knowing they are doing all they can. He is red-faced with rage at the debacle the battle has turned into but Connor is determined to make the best of it. The two schooners are getting closer and the _Aquila_ 's arcing path cuts across their bearing. The second ship turns in what appears to be an attempt to either sacrifice herself by allowing Connor to ram into her or position for a duel broadside with her sister ship on the _Aquila_.

Aveline is relieved when the _Aquila_ finally turns and heads in the direction the _Fenix de Oro_ is going. At least Connor's ship has the firepower capable of taking down a ship of that size. To his credit, Jean Lafitte had done the best he could with the limited number of guns at his disposal. She may not trust the man but he certainly played his part well in fighting for them. Aveline jogs along the side of the disabled ship until she reaches the very stern. The captain and his brother are nowhere to be seen. More than likely, they have retreated to the captain's cabin. She shades her eyes from the blinding sun that now sits at mid-morning height in the eastern sky after the _Aquila_ passes them by. The two undamaged schooners are making steady progress toward where they currently sit and a mote of concern stabs at her heart. With Connor leaving, the other two ships will easily be able to destroy them and it will certainly be a bloodbath.

The men on board _L'Etoile Polaire_ have already seen heavy losses and nearly everyone has at least some sign of having been in a battle. Aveline had only barely dodged flying debris on a number of occasions and considers herself fortunate to have only gotten a scratch on her neck from it. Others were not so lucky. At least four men were killed and one other was thrown overboard and lost under the waves. Many others have bleeding gashes and two men have life threatening injuries. The decks are packed with the injured, those attending to them and the remaining crew who, with nothing left to do but wait for the final assault, have clustered together in groups to watch the schooners approach.

The _Aquila_ angles sharply toward the approaching ships and instead of going around passes between them, unleashing the entire force of her firepower in two full broadsides. Both the upper and lower gun decks fire all of their cannons at once in a deafening roar, making the _Aquila_ appear to grow huge, opaque, grey wings as thirty cannonballs spew from each side. At such close range, the damage is devastating. One of the ships sinks almost immediately, spilling men, cargo and shattered wood into the sea. The other ship hobbles along, doing its best to escape the fray. Connor is having none of that and a single, well placed shot from a swivel gun blasts a hole in the hull at water level and finishes the work his massive broadside had started. Cheers from the sailors fill the air all around Aveline. Unexpectedly, the _Aquila_ turns again, and it is then that Aveline sees a partially damaged ship making its way through the debris toward _L'Etoile Polaire_. It seems Sergio's men wish to attempt a final attack on their one weak enemy since they cannot best Connor.

Aveline's attention is diverted back to the ship she is on as the cheers for Connor from _L'Etoile Polaire_ 's crew turn into a mighty collection of swears and angry shouts. A group of sailors is gathering at the starboard railing and most of them are screaming in French and throwing pieces of the broken ship overboard. Aveline quickly crosses to their side to see what is happening. Jean and Pierre are in the ship's dinghy, paddling hard for shore. The ropes that usually secure the small boat appear to have been hastily cut. They must have taken advantage of the frenetic chaos and the distraction provided by the surrounding battle at sea to abandon ship. The traitors have finally shown their true allegiance openly. Aveline climbs up into the rigging so she is in full view of the two men.

"Jean! You may think you can hide from me but I will find you. Both of you will perish for your ill deeds!" Three sailors dive over the side and begin to swim after the dinghy but Pierre stops paddling, stands up and unholsters two guns from his belt. He shoots quickly, killing two of the three men swimming towards the dinghy. The third man stops and treads water in shock, watching as Pierre calmly reloads one of the guns and points it at him. With a jaunty tip of his chin, he smirks at the remaining sailor's reconsideration. The crew on _L'Etoile Polaire_ is in a frenzy, screaming at their captain's treachery and betrayal until one man runs for the swivel gun on the ship. He fires and Pierre raises his hands in the air when the shot goes wide, making a derogatory gesture at him. The first mate then sits down, picks up the oars and resumes paddling while the captain calmly watches the _Aquila_ bear down on her final foe. By the time the swivel gun is loaded again, they are too far out of range and the anger of the abandoned crewmen is reaching a dangerous level.

Connor's gunners fire on the schooner, laying waste to its pitiful last attempt but it isn't clear whether he has spotted the small dinghy. It doesn't matter because the LaFitte brothers are nearly to the shore of Cuba and Connor can't steer the _Aquila_ close enough to fire upon them because of the wreckage in the way and the shallowness of the sea. Instead, he turns once again and closes the distance to the ship they are all stranded on. Aveline grinds her teeth at the thought of Sergio getting away because Connor is unwilling to leave a single man behind. She jumps down among the milling, angrily arguing sailors, raises her pistol into the air and fires. Josiah materializes nearby and towers behind her small yet menacing form and the two of them command the attention of everyone present. Aveline glances up at Ambrose where he crouches in the rigging, his blowpipe loaded and at his lips, ready to shoot. Gerald is standing at the bottom of the nearest mast with his hand resting on the pommel of his short sword.

"Listen to me, men! The LaFitte brothers have shown you their perfidy but it doesn't mean you must suffer for it. Fight with us!"

"The ship is sunk! What is there to fight for?" one man shouts from the crowd.

"Your former captain used you and betrayed you all. You saw him kill your own brethren and they were not the first to have spilled their lifeblood for him! He supports the ones who seek to oppress all people. But we fight for freedom! Join us and your men will be avenged."

"And what's your proposal? Swim after them and chase them through the jungle?" Aveline shakes her head and raises her voice even louder as Connor's ship slowly moves up beside them. Faulkner is at the wheel and Connor stands at the railing above them with one foot resting on it. He grasps a taught rope in his hand and presents a regal bearing to them all.

"No. The _Aquila_ will take us on and with Connor as your new Captain, we will give chase to the man your former captain betrayed us to. Once we destroy him I will seek out the LaFitte brothers, who are traitors to you all. You are free to go your own way if you wish, but there is a better future for you with us! You will be masters of your own lives!" The deck shifts beneath their feet and begins to tilt as the sea continues to swamp the ship. Connor's sailors throw hooks across as if they will board but it is more of a protective measure to keep the ship from sinking completely. Aveline jumps across to the _Aquila_ and climbs up to join Connor. She gives him a steady look and he nods down at her at her.

"Join us!" Connor shouts, extending his opened hand towards them all. There is a long moment where every man is seemingly frozen in place before they collectively move toward the railings and begin to scale the outside of the much larger ship. The two very injured men are hoisted up with ropes and laid on the deck. The _Aquila_ 's sailors welcome their new crewmen and immediately direct them to where they will be needed. The last man to board before Ambrose, Josiah and Gerald release the hooks and follow, is the sailor who had attempted to catch his captain. He is dripping wet and visibly furious. Connor and Aveline face him as he approaches.

"I will follow you when this is over, Madam, and I will leave the LaFitte brothers' stinking corpses to rot in the sun!" The man spits over the side of the ship and then nods at Connor.

"Captain." He stalks away after acknowledging Connor's authority. Aveline turns to Connor and hisses at him.

"Why did you come back? I'm not displeased with the outcome, but you could have had him! Now he's gone and we'll be hard pressed to catch up!"

"Your ship was sinking. I am not worried about catching Sergio. The _Fenix de Oro_ is fat with trade goods and she is slow for it. We will catch up within a few hours and when we do we will need every man who can wield a weapon fighting with us." Aveline crosses her arms and turns to face the ship with a huff. He is right and she hates admitting it. After the swim to shore, she would have had a rabble of disorderly men on her hands and they would have accomplished nothing. LaFitte and his brother will keep. She has her ways to find him and when she does, she will make him pay.

Some of her righteous anger fades when she notices several of Connor's men scattered along the port railing along with the sailors from _L'Etoile Polaire_ being attended to by Jamie. Many of them bear deep wounds, cuts and scrapes and more than one have pieces of wood embedded in limbs or body. The two badly injured men hoisted up from _L'Etoile Polaire_ are in grave condition. One of them has only a ragged stump below the knee where his left leg used to be and his bloodied clothes are ripped to shreds from what must have been both cannon ball and splash damage from secondary projectiles. His face is pale and he grips the railing behind him, panting and gasping in pure, agonized misery as Jamie tightens a tourniquet around his leg. The other man appears to already be dead from a massive abdominal wound.

It has been some time since the cannons were last fired yet Catherine and Anika's ears are still ringing when they detect footsteps on the stairs. Anika clutches the knife and Catherine takes an arrow from her quiver and holds it ready on her bow, using her right elbow to push her sister behind her. Much to the relief of them both, it is only Isaac.

"Anika! Catherine! Jamie needs your help…" he calls tentatively into the darkness. Catherine lowers her bow and turns up the wick in the lantern. Anika places the knife down and steps around Catherine.

"Is it over?" Isaac sighs at her question.

"For now. But we have many injured men to attend to. Some of them are gravely so." Anika gasps and crosses to him immediately. Her eyes are wide and Isaac touches her arm and answers the question her frightened expression is asking.

"Your husband is fine; he was below decks with me and the other Assassins." He looks past Anika to Catherine.

"And Connor is fine as well, Catherine. He says it's safe to come up for a little while. We have gained about twenty new crew members from _L'Etoile Polaire_ but many of them need help now."

"Who will sail the other ship?" Catherine asks as she hooks her bow over her back alongside her quiver and hurries over with the lantern to follow him up the stairs with Anika.

"No one. She is lost." Catherine sucks in her breath. All she could think of was the constant blasting of the _Aquila_ 's cannons and she had not comprehended the loss of one of their own ships.

"What of the captain? Is he on board too?" Anika asks with concern.

"No, my dear. He and his brother abandoned the crew and escaped to Cuba. Aveline will handle them later."

The sun is overly bright as they emerge and both of the women squint and blink, blinded. They are immediately overwhelmed by the state of the ship and the people on it. All around them are people with bleeding scratches, torn clothes and hastily stitched up wounds covered with bandages cobbled together from scraps of clothing. The deck is a hazardous place to walk and their moccasins slip on the splinters of wood that almost evenly cover every horizontal surface. Sonehso:wa climbs down the main mast and another sailor takes his place. He walks quickly to his wife and takes her hands, looking down at her face before speaking to her and Catherine together.

"There are more than enough men to sail this ship so I will aid you in helping these men." He tilts his head in the direction of the injured people and then holds his hand out to Catherine. She extends her arm slowly to him while she continues to take in the changed environment she had last seen only hours prior and he grasps her forearm lightly.

"My brother wants to see you." Catherine nods and walks toward the back of the ship while Sonehso:wa and Anika join Jamie. Just as Catherine reaches the stairs, she sees Anika's look of horror at the sight of the most badly injured men smooth out to a kind smile for them. She is made for this sort of thing. Catherine remembers the way she fearlessly cared for her when she lost the baby. The sight of so much of her own blood had been sickening yet Anika had given no sign of worry. Her confident demeanor had helped Catherine get through the traumatizing experience.

Connor hands the wheel over to Faulkner and takes Catherine by the arm to lead her towards the stern railing. The landmass of Cuba is already far behind them as they sail at top speed through the waves.

"Sergio got away." Connor's voice is flat when he speaks. Catherine's heart sinks. All this damage, all this pain, and it isn't yet over! She shakes her head and looks out over the ship. From where she stands she can see the entire deck and the damage that mars it. The wooden planks are stained red with blood that seeps across from the collective of injured men being tended to by Jamie, Anika, Sonehso:wa and the others who are assisting them. Those who aren't managing the rigging and sails or attending the injured have begun to clean up the mess with the help of the Assassins but it seems insurmountable. Catherine opens her mouth and lets out a long sigh of worry.

Connor's warm hand on her cheek turns her back to him and he rests his hands on her shoulders.

"WildCat, I know it is not what you wanted to hear and I am sorry for that but we sail in pursuit now. I will not stop until I catch him, I promise you that." Catherine nods and Connor pulls her closer and gives her an unexpected kiss. His thumbs move on her shoulders when he steps back and he appears apologetic.

"I have to ask for your help when we find him." Catherine wrinkles her eyebrows together in confusion.

"What could I possibly do?" Connor reaches up and tugs on the arm of her bow that protrudes above her left shoulder with two fingers.

"I need you ready to use this when we catch Sergio. He has many more men than I do and the men I have are injured. Some of them will not be able to fight with me. I need everyone who can wield a weapon fighting and that includes you. You have a good eye and good aim; you can protect us from a safe place. Sonehso:wa will be by your side doing the same." Catherine's eyes fall from Connor's face and settle on his chest. The thought of being involved in real combat is frightening yet how can she refuse him? He has risked his life for her sake many times already and will no doubt do it again before long. It is a sobering fact but his faith in her skill is somewhat heartening and she looks back up at him. His eyes are shaded by his hat but are no less affectionate for their darkness. The rest of his face displays the burden of the responsibilities he bears so Catherine is compelled to give him the answer he seeks.

"I'll do it." As if he can read her mind, Connor squeezes her shoulders.

"I know you do not wish to. I do not like it either but every bit of help will make a difference." His left hand strays up from her shoulder to caress the side of her neck and face and Catherine turns her head to kiss his gloved palm. Connor slowly traces her lips with his thumb before seeming to make over his mind. He kisses her again quickly and then straightens his hat as he stands upright.

"If we are to catch Sergio, I must return to my duties at the wheel. Be sure to go below with the Assassins when we are within sight of the _Fenix de Oro_. There is bound to be another fire fight but we have time before that happens."

"I'll help Anika until then." Connor looks over at where his injured men are and the crease between his eyebrows bunches together.

"Yes, that will be good." His lips flatten into a line that is probably meant to be a smile but wildly misses the mark because he is obviously distracted by his responsibilities. He squeezes her shoulder reassuringly and turns to walk toward Faulkner and the wheel.

Catherine watches him take over the steering of the ship. His broad shoulders shift as he makes a small adjustment to their bearing and resets his hands on the wheel. Faulkner gestures out over the ship with a remark and Connor glances at his first mate with a solemn nod. Catherine can't help the guilt feelings that forever wear on her, reminding her that she is the cause of all the burdens he bears right now and the concerns that mar his face even when he tries to hide it. He can assure her all he wants that he would have come to this ultimate confrontation eventually but to Catherine, it will always be her fault. If she had simply given up all hope of escaping her captors and they had murdered her, Connor would never have gotten involved in any of this and none of his associates would have been dragged into it either. Her thoughts and gaze drift over to Anika and Sonehso:wa and she is reminded that much good has come of these tribulations as well. They are drunkenly in love with each other and it shows in every word, every touch and every look they share.

Aveline is coming up the steps and Catherine reminds herself of an even greater good that is a result of all of this. Despite the loss of life that has already occurred, it is all to prevent the loss of many, many more lives as well as the terrible suffering that would befall both those who die and the survivors who would be forced into slavery. Catherine walks toward the port stairway to join Anika in helping the injured, but she pauses when she notices a coiled whip attached to Aveline's belt. The sight of it brings bile to Catherine's throat and causes her ears to ring so loudly she feels faint. To cover her sudden anxiety and keep herself from actually falling down, she leans against the railing of the stairs but behind her back, she grasps it with both hands.

"You shoot a bow? I didn't know that." Aveline's divided right eyebrow rises in surprise.

"Yes… Yes! I'll be using it later, it seems." Catherine's eyes flit down to the whip again but she forcibly raises them back to the face of the woman she knows is a truly kind soul.

"Connor asked you to help?" Catherine nods and Aveline smiles.

"Good. If he wants you to, it means he trusts your skill. He doesn't give out his trust as easily as he used to. I look forward to seeing you in action!" Catherine smiles at Aveline in a polite way that effectively ends the conversation, freeing them to go their separate ways. Aveline stands on Connor's other side at the upper railing and Catherine flees down the stairs to Anika where she is kneeling next to Jamie. They are each sewing up different injuries on the same man. Jamie looks up at Catherine and tips his head at his leather bag of supplies.

"Pick a patient and take what you need to close them up. There's spirits for cleaning wounds but be sparing. There isn't much to go around unless Connor's men have got more stashed somewhere. Fresh seawater will do for the superficial wounds." Catherine reaches into his bag and takes out a needle and some thread. The number of injured men is staggering but she takes a deep breath and walks over to where Sonehso:wa is crouched. He has cleaned off the leg of a man with a piece of wood the size of Catherine's thumb lodged in his calf. Sonehso:wa gestures to the wood and Catherine squats down next to him.

"Ready to pull this out?" she asks the sailor and he nods. Sonehso:wa hands him a piece of folded belt leather and he bites down on it. In one quick motion, Sonehso:wa pulls the piece of wood out of the man's leg with one hand while keeping him still with the other. The sailor howls in pain but controls it quickly. These types of injuries are a common occurrence for a ship that has seen battle and any good sailor knows the odds of experiencing such things are high. Catherine's hands are soon bloodied as she works at closing the wound, her earlier moment with Aveline forgotten in the overwhelming task of caring for the sailor's greater needs.

Catherine and Sonehso:wa work together, moving from one sailor to the next, cleaning wounds and stitching the ones that need it. The injuries that are beyond their skill are handed off to Jamie and Anika but they fall into a rhythm that keeps them busy for a long time. As each patient is patched up, they are escorted down to the crew's quarters where they are given water and told to rest as much as possible, for the ones who are able will be called upon once again. The two men from _L'Etoile Polaire_ with the extreme injuries are the only deaths to occur as the hours pass. Their bodies are loosely wrapped in a swath of damaged sailcloth and laid aside for a time when they can be properly buried at sea.

The sails of the _Fenix de Oro_ had been spotted on the horizon shortly before noon and the unremitting and agonizingly slow game of catch wears on everyone. Every passing minute brings the far swifter _Aquila_ closer to her target but it is by no means a rapid gain and tension runs high. No one can keep their eyes off of the sails that are just a little larger each time they look across the sparkling expanse of water between the two ships. Connor squints into the distance, using his spyglass and speaking with Faulkner and Aveline as they gauge the time they have left before they will be close enough to attack. Catherine and Anika find themselves pacing the recently cleaned deck restlessly under the hot Caribbean sun while they wait and wait and wait. No one needs their medical aid anymore so all they can do is watch the sails draw ever closer and pray it ends quickly, one way or another.


	24. Rage

"We're too far away to take a decent shot at her sails!" Faulkner raises his hand from the railing and gestures toward the  _Fenix de Oro_. The ship is tantalizingly close yet still out of range of their gunners. The sounds of her crew filter back to the  _Aquila_  from time to time with the wind and it only serves to increase Connor's frustration. He shifts his grip on the wheel of his ship and wipes the sweat from the side of his face with his sleeve. Sergio had disappeared into the captain's quarters after spending a good amount of time with his glass surveying the  _Aquila_  and Connor where he stood at the wheel. He had portrayed an arrogance that made him appear unconcerned about the inevitable confrontation and Connor had clenched his teeth at the man's overconfidence and stuffed his own spyglass into his pocket. Better for him to see a determined ship captain than a concerned one.

"I know that, Mr. Faulkner, but I am growing impatient."

"What's she got? Eighteen guns? No need to worry. She ain't built for war, boy, she's built for speed and cargo. Slavers always are."

"I am not worried about that." Connor hunches his shoulders and refuses to look at his first mate. Aveline tilts her head with a smile and looks at him from the sides of her eyes.

"Connor..." Before she can continue, Connor interrupts her.

"Aveline, I do not need you taking his side." Faulkner lets out a hearty laugh and Aveline crosses her arms while giving Connor a withering look as he speaks.

"It is not simply a matter of outgunning or sinking her. I want that box of letters Martinez had. He will not have left it behind. I would have taken it when we were scouting the fort had I known our efforts to remain undetected were for nothing."

"And you'll have 'em. But if yer hasty and cripple her wrong, she'll sink before ya ever get yer hands on what ya seek."

"We can't afford that! We need the names of Sergio's contacts." Aveline interjects. Connor nods in agreement with a low noise in his throat.

"Then I recommend ya reel in yer impatience!" Faulkner bellows, giving Connor a good natured slug to his upper arm. Connor clenches his jaw and tightens his hands on the wheel yet again with a deep exhale.

Connor keeps his impatience contained until they are much closer. Sonehso:wa, uneasy about the drawn out chase and the imminent nearness of combat, escorts Catherine and Anika to the captain's cabin but they sit on the stairs with the doors open so they can see out. Sonehso:wa leaves them talking with Ambrose, Joseph, Owen and Clipper. He walks up the stairs and stands beside Aveline as Connor shouts out orders to his crew. The other ship is so close the faces of her crewmen are almost clearly distinguishable.

"Chain shot in every gun! Aim them high! The sails and masts are our targets this time!" A busy racket takes over the ship as his men carry out his orders.

"Be ready to board, men! We are taking this ship!" Aveline grips the railing with some apprehension but she makes a sarcastic quip to Connor despite her nerves.

"Are we turning into pirates?"

"Only enough to get answers…" Aveline adjusts her hat on her head and presents a crooked, dark smile to the wind in anticipation of the fight. She is still angry about Jean's betrayal and her ire motivates her willingness to engage in a fight. The faster this is done, the sooner she can go after him and his brother. The information she might glean from Sergio's letters won't hurt her cause, either, and could provide useful information on her quarry's potential whereabouts.

The  _Fenix de Oro_  fires first. Connor notices a slight change to her tack and the way the men in her rigging work at changing the sails. The enormous schooner turns to port, revealing her opened cannon hatches.

"Brace! Brace!" His calls are drowned out by the explosive sound of the guns. Most of the shot falls short because the  _Aquila_  is still too far away for any real damage but one cannon ball glances off the prow and lands on the deck. The majority of the power behind it had been deflected by the solid wood hull but it still hits the deck with enough speed to dent the planks before rolling harmlessly to rest against a coiled rope. The  _Fenix de Oro_ 's drastic change in direction slows her enough that the  _Aquila_  at last closes enough distance to fire the swivel guns.

"Fire!" The gunners touch off their cannons, sending two double-loaded rounds of chain shot high into the larger ship's sails. As quickly as they fire, the cannons are swabbed and reloaded and Connor orders them fired again. The  _Aquila_  takes heavy damage to her bow with Connor's seemingly reckless frontal assault and refusal to turn and show her broadside as the  _Fenix de Oro_  had. The schooner fires repetitively into the  _Aquila_  just as quickly as Connor's men can reload their swivel guns. Under such relentless attack from the enemy, the bowsprit shatters just above the eagle figurehead and hangs from its ropes. The tip of it just barely clears the water except when the ship rides up an oncoming wave. The two triangular staysails and the rigging that holds them are quickly tattered and stripped from the ship. They are taken by the wind and thrown into the water, pulling the ropes and stays tight over the frontmost sails and the  _Aquila_ 's railings, reducing the effectiveness of the wind in and causing Connor to fight against the resulting drag on the ship's wheel. Several sailors quickly run in between attacks, dodging dangerously flailing ropes, to cut the useless material free from the rest of the rigging.

A piece of the figurehead is sheared off in the next onslaught, sending a disc of carved wood deep into the arm of one of the sailors. He screams and drops to his knees. Jamie and Peter run out to him and drag him back from the front of the ship. Anika darts over to the place where he lies behind the mast to help.

"Jitkwa:'e! Anika!" Sonehso:wa shouts from the upper deck before he runs down the stairs. He has to dodge the milling Assassins and his route takes him past the captain cabin's doors. Catherine is leaning out with her hands braced on the frame and Sonehso:wa pauses long enough to press his palm against her shoulder firmly in a clear message for her to stay where she is. He continues on and reaches his wife.

Sonehso:wa wants to scold her and insist she return to the safety of the captain's cabin, for though the mast is behind her, shielding her from a direct onslaught of cannon fire, she could still be hit by debris. Anika's hands are bloodied as she holds the arm of the injured sailor tightly. Jamie is cutting the man's sleeve away with a knife and his suturing implements are laid out already. The piece of figurehead lies on the deck beside him, coated in the man's blood. Sonehso:wa keeps his voice low.

"I do not like this. You are exposed out here and I cannot protect you from every side." Anika glances up at him before lowering her eyes to the man before her.

"He needs my help, Sonehso:wa, and so does Mr. Colley." Their conversation is interrupted by Jamie. He is ignoring everything around him as he works and he beckons with bloodied fingers to Owen.

"Come here and help me hold him, I'm going to need it." He looks at Anika.

"Ready?" She nods at him and as soon as Owen puts his hands on the sailor's chest and uninjured arm, Jamie pours a copious amount of spirits from his glass bottle into the gaping wound that is nearly the length of one of Anika's hands. The sailor screams, kicks and thrashes and it takes all three of them plus Sonehso:wa beside his wife and Ambrose on his feet to hold him down on the deck. Jamie corks the bottle and tosses it back to his bag so he can take up the needle. He speaks to the sailor with a firm tone that invites no disobedience.

"Keep still, you hear? This won't hurt nearly as bad as the last but you must  _keep still_!" The sailor lets out one last gasping scream and manages to stop writhing but his eyes are wild and flit from side to side at the faces above him. Connor shouts down to them.

"Brothers! Ready yourselves!" A flurry of movement ensues as the Assassins check their weapons and Clipper bangs the butt of his musket loudly on the deck. Anika uses both of her hands to squeeze the sides of the sailor's gash together and Jamie begins to sew him closed as quickly as he can manage. The rest of the Assassins and the sailors who are able to still fight gather on deck quickly from below, called by Clipper's signal. Many of the injured sailors don't appear fit to fight but they join the group nonetheless.

Sonehso:wa glances up at the captain's cabin but doesn't see Catherine anymore. He is torn. Anika is obviously needed where she is but despite wanting to protect her, he also needs to make sure Catherine is prepared to bring her bow to the fight. Anika slides her fingers along the sailor's bicep, tracking Jamie's progress and holding the firmest pressure at the place where he is closing the wound. As if she can read his thoughts, she speaks to Sonehso:wa without looking up from her task.

"I'm fine here. See that Cat's ready!" With a sigh of irritation, Sonehso:wa reluctantly leaves her side. He enters the captain's cabin at almost a run and nearly crashes into Catherine as she is exiting. She lets out a small scream as he takes her shoulders.

"Oh, my God, Soneh! You frightened me almost to death!" Catherine lowers her head as she takes in a deep breath and lets it out.

"I am sorry. I wanted to make sure you are ready."

"Of course I'm not ready! I've never shot a person! Only squirrels. A rabbit once…. I don't know if I can do this!" Her quiet confession is interrupted by the shouts of the sailors as they draw nearer to the  _Fenix de Oro_.

"You can. I will be beside you." Sonehso:wa looks over his shoulder at his wife and then up at the  _Fenix de Oro_. Her sails are destroyed completely but she still moves along under the momentum of her prior speed. Joseph calls over to them.

"Better grab onto something… We're on a collision course." He points toward the  _Fenix de Oro_  which is now almost perpendicular to them and very quickly getting closer as the  _Aquila_ speeds along. Connor's sailors move rapidly in the rigging, ready to furl the sails at a moment's notice and slow the ship, but the order never comes. With a jarring slam, the  _Aquila_  rams the side of the larger ship, knocking Catherine against the door frame beside Sonehso:wa. Her bow slips from her fingers and she scrambles to take it back up as Sonehso:wa helps her to her feet. Anika sits up from where she was thrown forward over the man she and Jamie are working on. Sonehso:wa takes a step toward her before she waves him off with bloodied hands. The  _Fenix de Oro_  grates along, slowed by the drag of the  _Aquila_ 's jagged and damaged prow along her side. Beneath Catherine's feet, the deck of the ship vibrates from the prolonged contact and transmits its groaning pain up into her body, making her jaw hurt from clenching.

Aveline joins the other Assassins, loosening the whip at her hip and checking her giant sugarcane machete on the other and Faulkner shouts at the sailors, waving his fist.

"Heave ho, boys! Board! Board! Board! Let's board this bastard!" Grappling hooks are thrown over to the other ship by the crew on the deck while the sails are furled and tied down by the men in the rigging. Anika sends Jamie away and, only moments after he ties the last stitch, takes up a bandage to bind the wound on her patient's arm.

"Go! I can finish this." Jamie hesitates for only a moment and then draws his gun from its place on his belt. He joins the others as they ready themselves for battle and the ropes are hauled on by the sailors.

The  _Aquila_  and the  _Fenix de Oro_  are quickly joined by almost a dozen ropes but in their haste to board, the sailors don't bring the ships completely together before tying them off. The ships are positioned so that the bow of the  _Aquila_  faces the stern of the  _Fenix de Oro_  at a sharp angle and the prow of the Aquila is almost touching the center of the larger ship's side. Huge scratches mar the freshly painted hull of the  _Fenix De Oro_ , leaving deep marks extending from the partly caved in portion near the front where the  _Aquila_  had first made contact. Connor catches Catherine's eyes for only a moment before running along the length of his ship, jumping up onto the broken bowsprit and taking a leap across the open gap to the other ship with his tomahawk held high in the air. In that instant of eye contact, a million words pass between them but none of them are enough to assuage Catherine's fears as he lands firmly on his feet among the enemy with his tomahawk swinging. Assassins and sailors alike follow Connor's lead, wielding swords, knives and guns, and pouring onto the other ship with a deafening shout, leaving the  _Aquila_  almost empty. Aside from the most badly wounded men below and the sailors still in the rigging up above, only Catherine, Anika, Sonehso:wa and Faulkner stand on deck.

Someone fires a gun and Sonehso:wa runs toward Anika where she is tying off her bandage. As soon as the sailor is on his feet, Sonehso:wa is quick to take his wife's arm and move her toward where Catherine is standing, shielding her with his body until she is safely behind the walls of the captain's cabin. Knowing Anika is safe, Sonehso:wa turns his full attention to Catherine. She is standing with her back to the cabin's doors and her first arrow is ready and aimed toward the  _Fenix de Oro_. Her face is tense and her eyes are wide and frightened. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and her lips tremble slightly, exposing an even deeper panic than is obvious at first glance. Sonehso:wa touches her arm and she lowers her bow and looks into his dark eyes as if pleading for him to release her from her promise to Connor. He merely speaks in a calm voice.

"You can do this." She nods at his words with a quick sigh and raises her bow once again and repositions her feet. Unlike when standing on grass at the cabin or on the soft pine needles covering the ground beneath the trees at the village, her moccasins slide too easily on the smooth deck so in a fit of nervous anxiety, Catherine kicks them off and presses her toes onto the wood, seeking stability. It still doesn't provide the comforting give of turf but it's better than before. Sonehso:wa takes an arrow from his quiver calmly and draws his bow, quickly making the first shot and killing a man engaged in battle with one of Connor's red-belted sailors. The mass of humanity on the other ship is boiling and shifting. Not a single person is a stationary target and Catherine fights to press down her self doubt. A second man falls to one of Sonehso:wa's black feathered arrows.

"They're moving too much! I'll miss!" Catherine shakes her head in a panic as the dark coated men who belong to Sergio,  _Fenix de Oro_  sailors dressed in shades of grey and beige,  _Aquila_  sailors with red belts and Connor's Assassins all blend into a confusing mass of constant turmoil.

"You must anticipate their movement." Sonehso:wa aims his next shot and Catherine watches him turn his entire upper body slightly as he follows his target and looses his arrow, making yet another clean kill with his black fletched ammunition.

Catherine picks out one of the Aquila's sailors fighting hard with two curved scimitars against one of Sergio's many men wielding a sword. If the men who had captured her had survived and she had not, more than likely they would have been on one of these ships in Sergio's fleet. Maybe even on the  _Fenix de Oro_ , and they would have been dressed in the same livery all of his other lackeys wear. Catherine pictures each of them with their cruel faces and even crueler hands, yet only the worst one, the monster with the whip, stands out in her mind and becomes who is now in her sight at the tip of her arrow head. With a low moan of creeping horror at seeing him alive once again, she clenches her teeth, pulls back on her string so hard the bow creaks in her hands and looses her arrow at her target. The arrow sinks deep into the shoulder of his sword arm, rendering it useless and causing him to reel sideways. All sounds seem to fade away as she watches the sailor who was fighting him use the unexpected injury as an opening to swing one of his blades and slice into the man's neck. He falls out of sight and the sailor ducks to the side and moves to engage his next opponent.

Catherine's eyes are drawn to the sight of Connor in the thick of the wildest fighting, swinging his tomahawk in his right hand and using his pistol in his left as a club. Sometimes he is lost to her sight as the surging mass of men on board shifts and swells and Catherine's eyes find the other Assassins: Aveline fights with a graceful ease, her lithe and flexible body seeming to give way but only so she can move in for a quick and precise attack with her machete or her left hidden blade. She drops her opponents quickly, turning from one to another in a terrifying dance of death. Her two Assassins are equally as deadly, only in different ways. Ambrose is quick and light on his feet, jumping and dodging into the rigging, as agile as a cat, and using his blowpipe to take out men in all directions before dropping out of the way of any ranged weapons trained on him. Josiah is a powerful beast of a man as he throws his smaller opponents into each other to upset their balance and then stabs them with one of his two blades, whirling so quickly that his long, snake-like ropes of hair fly out behind him. He wields a short sword in his left and a longer sword in his right and both of them are put to good use. Clipper has set himself up with Isaac and Peter in a well protected corner on the far side of the  _Fenix de Oro_. Though both older men are less active than their younger brethren, they defend their location well, allowing Clipper to reload his musket and continue picking off Sergio's men with ease. One of his shots takes down the captain and a frightening upheaval of fury among the remaining sailors pushes the combatants to their very limits.

The battle separates enough to reveal Connor's blue coat in a different place. Catherine is reminded of the brutal style of combat she had witnessed in the village, only now he holds nothing back. The full force of his strength and weight are behind him when he kicks a man over the side of the ship only to turn in the same fluid motion and use the spin of his body to bury his tomahawk into his next opponent. His face and clothing are already stippled with the blood of his enemies and his mouth is open in what appears to be a shout but if any sound comes from him it is lost among the countless others that meld together into a dissonant and terrible clamor that is punctuated by ringing gunshots from Clipper or the pistols wielded by one man or another.

Sonehso:wa's voice comes to her out of the confusing noises that have cluttered her ears. He is yelling at her between every arrow he fires.

"Cat! Shoot them!  _Cat_!" Catherine sweeps her gaze across the ship, following where Sonehso:wa is aiming his bow, and she watches arrow after arrow of his flying into a group of black coated men who are attempting to board the  _Aquila_. Some of them scream as they fall between the ships, skewered by Sonehso:wa's shots. Still in a daze, Catherine draws an arrow from her quiver and aims at the chest of a man climbing upon the railing, preparing to jump. She releases her string and the man falls backwards onto the deck of the  _Fenix de Oro_  with a white fletched arrow sprouting from him. In a rush, the many sounds around her clarify in her ears and at last, Catherine feels her fingers as she reloads her bow and shoots another man and then another.

One man makes it across to the  _Aquila_  and as he begins to run toward their little group, Sonehso:wa shoots him in the neck. He topples to the side and then rolls, carried forward by his momentum. As he comes to rest with his back to their view, Connor's tomahawk is lodged between his shoulders. Catherine sees Connor with his feet braced in a wide stance on the deck of the  _Fenix de Oro_ , looking at her and breathing heavily as he draws his sword from its sheath. The sun shines on the long length of metal and glints off the wicked serrated edge. Even locked in battle he is watching out for her. If Sonehso:wa's arrow hadn't stopped the man, Connor's tomahawk surely would have. Almost instantly, Connor's attention is redirected to another black coated attacker and several enemy sailors and he wields his blade with deadly prowess, slashing and stabbing, using his foot to aid in drawing his sword out and drop his enemy out of the way simultaneously. His blood spattered captain's coat swings out from his waist as he turns, lending a fascinatingly beautiful appearance to his deadly dance.

Catherine fights free of her inertia and loads another arrow. The number of Martinez's men on the deck of the other ship has dwindled but the Assassins are still grossly outnumbered so both Catherine and Sonehso:wa look for the Assassins and sailors who seem most beset upon. Catherine keeps herself focused on the rear of the ship while Sonehso:wa takes the front so their arrows will have discrete targets.

Each arrow Catherine shoots finds its intended mark, either killing the man or wounding him enough to allow the one fighting to finish him. Catherine aims for a man bearing down on Dobby from behind. She is fighting another and Catherine is horrified when Dobby steps to the side into her arrow's path just as she looses it. The projectile passes beside Dobby's face and drops her approaching attacker just as he raises his sword toward her. Dobby kills her opponent and turns and to find the man who had fallen dead at her feet with a white fletched arrow protruding from his eye. She immediately looks toward the  _Aquila_ , nodding to Catherine before diving back into the fray.

"I have no more arrows." Sonehso:wa says at last. He loops his bow across his body to free his hands and rests his left palm over the club on his hip, ready to wield it if necessary. In a span of time that seems to have been only moments, he had managed to go through all of his two dozen arrows. Catherine had been keeping count of hers and she stands at thirteen. She knows she has two left so she wants to make them count. Her next arrow takes down a sailor who has managed to disarm Duncan and pin him against the third mast of the ship. Duncan flings the body to the side and takes up his weapon again to rejoin the battle.

The door to the Captain's cabin opens, reflecting the sun off of its diamond shaped windows and catching Catherine's eyes. She turns her head and instantly, time seems to slow down to a crawl. Dressed in the finely arranged clothing in shades of black and charcoal he has always preferred, Sergio Martinez steps into the sunlight, carrying two shining pistols in his hands. His white hair is tied neatly at the base of his head with a dark ribbon and a black tricorne trimmed in gold sits atop his head. It has been six months since Catherine has seen his face yet he is unchanged. Though she is too far away to see his blue eyes or the creases on his skin, from his posture she knows his expression is one of stoic resolve as he raises one of his guns.

Joseph is pulling his sword from the body of his latest opponent and as he stands, he is unaware of Sergio's emergence mere steps behind him. Without even a moment of hesitation, Sergio shoots him in the back of his head. Catherine's legs go weak but she manages to hold herself upright as a choking scream rips from her throat at the sight of Joseph falling to his knees and then down onto his back on the deck. One side of his handsome, young face is covered in blood and a gaping, red hole mars his forehead where the bullet had passed right through his skull. Catherine staggers forward with her right hand outstretched but Sonehso:wa grabs her arm and reels her back.

"He is gone! There is nothing you can do!" Catherine falls against Sonehso:wa as a sobbing cry of despair bubbles up from her chest. Tears blur her vision but then she jerks herself free of his grip.

"There  _is_  something I can do!" She cries, her voice tight and filled with anger as she dashes the tears from her eyes and watches Sergio climbing the stairs to the stern deck of the schooner where there is no longer any fighting. No one seems to have noticed him in the fray but Catherine can't see anything other than him anymore. She reaches for her last arrow and finds an empty quiver under her fingers. Her heart rate picks up and a rising panic grows in her belly. Her frantic fingers continue to find nothing but air. She had one left. One left! In that moment, she remembers the arrow Dobby had taken from her and snapped in two before her eyes, days ago. All along, she had forgotten that she had been reduced to fourteen arrows.

Catherine is sick with anger and helplessness. She is unable to stop Sergio now and she tugs angrily at her empty quiver, dragging it over her head with a scream and dropping it onto the deck, cursing Dobby's name. She curls the fingers of her right hand into a fist and raises it to her mouth, pressing it to her lips to hold in a groaning cry of anguish. Somewhere behind her Catherine can hear Anika's voice but the sound of it is indistinct and far away. Sergio looks over his ship and assesses the battle raging on its deck. His eyes fall on Connor and Catherine wants to vomit as he holsters his spent gun and swaps the second one to his right hand and starts to raise it up. Her eyes fall on the dead man on the  _Aquila_ 's deck. With only moments to react, Catherine knocks Sonehso:wa's restraining hand from her shoulder, runs to the dead man and pushes his body over with her foot. Sonehso:wa's arrow is deep in his throat but she grabs it with her right hand and pulls. It comes part way out but the corners of the arrowhead catch in the skin. Every tug only succeeds in making the dead man's head loll about on the deck grotesquely. With an aching, nauseated horror in the pit of her stomach, Catherine places her foot over the man's chin and jaw and yanks on the arrow as hard as she can. His skin is still warm and the stubble on his face prickles the sole of Catherine's foot, sending shivers down her spine. The arrowhead tears out with a sickening resistance and his blood coats the fingers of Catherine's left hand as she nocks the arrow on her bow. Her hands shake and her heart races as she pulls the string back, aiming for her father in law's chest.

Sergio raises the gun, pointing the gilded muzzle at Connor's back where he is fighting two men on the lower level. Catherine shoots but Sonehso:wa's larger, much heavier arrow drops faster than she had anticipated. It misses her intended mark and pierces Sergio's left thigh instead. He staggers backward and falls to his knees at the ship's wheel, holding the shaft of the arrow and looking at it in shock with his lips distorted into a rictus of pain. Sergio turns in the direction of the  _Aquila_  and stares long and hard at Catherine. From a distance, she must appear as a wild haired, barefoot woman dressed in a long tunic and pants holding a bow. Her skin is darkened and somewhat reddened from her recent and prolonged exposure to the sun so there is no reason for him to recognize her. With the blinding sunlight overhead making him squint, she would be a total stranger to him at most. To Catherine's horror, Sergio turns away from her, no doubt categorizing her as a weak threat to be dealt with later, and raises his head up to find his target again with renewed determination.

"No! No, no,  _no_!" Catherine screams as Sergio starts to lift the gun again to aim at Connor, turning at the hips and bringing his left arm and shoulder backwards to compensate for his injured leg and restricted stance. With all the shouting and clashing of weapons, her voice is lost in the melee and does nothing to deter Sergio. The handle of Connor's tomahawk is next to her foot and in a panic, she snatches it, wrenching it free from the body. She has never been very good at throwing it but she has to try. Determined not to miss, Catherine starts to run toward the other ship. If she can just get closer she might have a chance. The sound of running footsteps and Anika screaming behind her makes her glance over her shoulder. Sonehso:wa's back is to her and he is holding Anika as she struggles against him with her arms stretched out over his shoulders, tearfully pleading with Catherine to come back. Faulkner is surprisingly the one giving chase, having abandoned the wheel of the  _Aquila_ , and despite his aged appearance he is almost on top of her, reaching for her wrist. He misses but catches one of the long arms of her bow. He pulls on it to stop her but Catherine simply releases her hold on the weapon.

"Dammit! Come back here!" Faulkner wheezes as he flings it aside, but Sergio has his pistol steady and aimed right for Connor. Catherine isn't sure she has time to reach the other side.

The ships had shifted during the battle and the gap between them is enormous but Catherine can't stop her headlong rush. She raises her left foot up onto the starboard railing of the  _Aquila,_  just to the side of the broken bowsprit. There isn't a moment to think or reconsider her reckless actions; she knows she won't make it across but there isn't time for anything now. With all her strength, she leaps into the open space and flings the tomahawk as hard as she can. It hits Sergio in the chest in the same instant that he fires his pistol. Smoke from the gunshot obliterates Catherine's view of him completely. She falls short of clearing the  _Fenix de Oro_ 's railing and smashes into it instead, her upper abdomen taking the brunt of her weight. A scintillating burst of gold surrounds Connor, filling Catherine's vision and leaving a green afterimage in her eyes as the impact leaves her breathless and she slips downward. Her chin hits the top edge of the railing, sending her head backwards and clicking her teeth together loudly. Stunned, she is unable to find purchase on the outside of the ship and her hands are too numb and useless to stop herself from falling off the side. Her last thought as she plummets toward the sea, accompanied by Anika's horrified screams of panic, is that she was too late.

The water is surprisingly warm as it closes over her head, blurring the sight of the sun above. All Catherine can do is exhale in one long, slow, painful breath as she continues to sink farther from the surface. Everything is blue, split by a myriad of bubbles racing upward as the once bright sunlight begins to fade into blackness. Something takes her around her chest and drags on her until her head breaks the surface of the water. A strong hand tips her head back against something solid and her drenched hair is swept hastily away, uncovering her face and turning her head sideways. Blackness continues to fill her vision until with a great effort, she takes a long, broken and excruciating breath. Light explodes back in her head and a familiar voice speaks into her ear over the sound of waves splashing against wood and the clash of metal on metal far above.

"It's alright, love, just breathe. I've got ya." Catherine cries out and struggles briefly but the arm around her chest tightens and a bristly beard prickles against her neck as her legs are repetitively bumped into underwater.

"Yer alright! I've got ya!" Faulkner's voice finally reaches her fogged brain and Catherine relaxes in his grip, taking choking gulps of air into her lungs. The pain in her stomach and lower chest is immense but every breath she drags into her lungs is heavenly until she starts coughing. Her body spasms and wants to heave up everything she has ever eaten but nothing comes.

"Easy, just try to breathe. This'll pass, it always does. Slowly, slowly now." Faulkner treads water, coaching her until her breathing settles into something smooth and steady. When she is calm enough not to fight, he tows her towards the starboard side of  _Aquila_ , away from the fighting. At the side of the ship, he has Catherine hold onto his back and she uses every bit of her remaining strength in her trembling arms to do just that as he climbs up the outside of the hull, using trim and cannon portholes as hand and footholds.

All Catherine can think of is that she was too slow and too weak to save Connor. She wants to let go of Faulkner's shoulders and fall back into the sea so she can take a breath of seawater just to end the overwhelming misery that has leapt upon her very soul with its sharp claws and tearing teeth. Sonehso:wa lifts her off of Faulkner's back when he reaches the top and hefts her high on chest, holding her tightly and preventing her from fulfilling her desperate imaginings. Bright red blood stains Faulkner's steely grey ponytail, and Catherine wonders where it came from. Sonehso:wa carries her over to the area near the captain's cabin as Anika hovers alongside him with her frightened face turned upwards. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Anika looks her over when Sonehso:wa lays her down, running her hands over Catherine's stomach carefully and lifting her soaking tunic up to check underneath. Catherine's entire chin is tingling and stinging and Anika touches the tip of it gently. Her fingers come away bloodied.

"Cat, why did you do that? You could have been killed! Or drowned!" Her voice is ragged and hoarse from her earlier screaming and suffused with worry as she fumbles in Jamie's supplies for a rag to use as a bandage.

"I had to try… had to…but I was too slow. Just tell me now." Catherine begins to tremble anew as she braces herself for what she knows is to come.

"Tell you what? That you're the stupidest girl I've ever known?" Anika splashes some liquor from Jamie's bottle of spirits onto the rag and then presses it to Catherine's chin so hard she has to fight to talk. It burns painfully.

"Ow! Is he… dead?"

"What? You're delirious!" Anika looks up and across to the  _Fenix de Oro_ , adding to her words as she shades her eyes with her free hand.

"He's still over there fighting like a madman." Catherine flails on the warm wooden planks of the deck and rolls over to see for herself. Faulkner is standing beside Sonehso:wa, wringing out his coat. Catherine starts to get to her hands and knees when she sees Connor swinging his sword and hears the clanging ring of it echoing across the water.

"I can still help him!" Faulkner bends and reaches his hand out in front of her in a blocking gesture.

"Ya already did, love. Let the man fight." Catherine's arms give out and she collapses onto the deck, resting her dripping forehead down onto the planks in a pile of her soaking wet hair and growing puddle of seawater that merges with the one coming from Faulkner. Anika reaches under her head with the rag and holds it to her chin again.

"But… Sergio shot him. I saw it! He must be hurt." Catherine manages to get out, tasting metallic blood, salty sea water and the sharp burn of grain alcohol in her mouth. Faulkner crouches down and rests a hand on her fingers gently.

"Aye, he did shoot the boy, but that blasted ring he wears any time he goes into a fight saved him. It's fickle as a woman but this time it worked. I can't say the thing doesn't give me the chills but it has its merits." Catherine remembers seeing the ring on Connor's finger but had written it off as a simple good luck charm of some sort. Faulkner had spoken of it as if it had a will of its own. She lifts her head and stares at the fighting that has wound down considerably on the other ship. Connor is no longer engaged in battle and he moves quickly toward the small group of men still fighting.

"What is it?"

"The ring? Damned if I know. Connor listened to that drunk Peg Leg's crazy tales and chased down a bunch a' maps to find it. Nearly got himself killed when he did. Then it knocked a flask right outa' my hands. It's got powers, it does. Somethin' I don't want nothin' to do with but that boy's right at home with it."

While he speaks, the sounds of battle finally stop. Catherine's attention is drawn completely to the front of the  _Aquila_  when the sailors begin to return to their ship. Bloodied and battle worn, yet thrilling in their triumph, they leap easily across the very same gap that had been just a little too far for Catherine to reach. With quick hands, they unloop the ropes of the hooks and begin to pull the two vessels closer together until their sides are touching. The Assassins are walking among the dead, pulling out arrows, checking for signs of life and talking among themselves. The transition from the sounds and sights of fighting and violence to those of quieter work and discussion is so rapid it leaves Catherine reeling and somewhat confused. Silence rings loudly in her ears. She doesn't know what to make of her racing heart and shaking limbs now that the danger has ended so suddenly.

Connor cleans and sheathes his sword and strides among his men, resting his hand on a shoulder with a nod or pausing to speak with someone. Moving on, he stops at his fallen Brother where he lies in front of the captain's cabin doors. Connor stoops over and then settles onto his knees, reaching down to close Joseph's eyes gently with one hand. Catherine watches his lips move and her heart breaks for him when he rests his palm on the boy's chest and shakes his head, bowing it towards the deck. Dobby approaches and kneels at Joseph's right shoulder, smoothing his blond hair, now matted with blood that is quickly drying in the sun, over the hole in his forehead. Connor looks at her solemnly and then stands, walking away and leaving her alone with him. She lowers her face down to Joseph's, cradling his head in her arms, while Connor enters the captain's cabin. He is only in there for a short time before he comes back out with a small box in his hands. Aveline meets him and they speak briefly before she takes the box from him and gestures to the ship's wheel. She turns away to crouch beside Dobby and Connor slowly makes his way toward the stairs leading up to where Sergio had stood.

Suddenly, Catherine wants to be there. She needs to see that he is dead to truly believe she is free of his shadow. With the help of Sonehso:wa and Faulkner she staggers to her feet but the older man tries to restrain her.

"Please, Mr. Faulkner… Let me go to him."

"Alright, love. I suppose it's safe now." He glances at Sonehso:wa and together the two men release her arms. Catherine extends her hand out for the rag and Anika gives it to her with a worried look. Walking as quickly as she can to the railing, she holds her left arm across her chest just under her breasts and clutches the rag to her chin with the other. Her lungs ache from the blow she took to her body and every inhalation is like a fire inside but she makes it to the railing. The busy sailors watch her approach and when she starts climbing across, one reaches a hand to her from where he stands on the other side. He has a deep slash on the front of his chest that bleeds down his abdomen into the crimson sash wound around his waist.

"Ya don' need ta clamber over… we'll 'andle it…" He murmurs insistently, glancing at her dripping wet hair, soaked clothing and then down at her bare feet with unease.

"But I do. Thank you." Catherine lowers the rag from her face and takes his hand, using it to pull herself the rest of the way onto the deck of the  _Fenix de Oro_. She faces the sailor and, with a calmness that comes out of nowhere, presses the rag onto his injury.

"You need this more than I do." The sailor flinches from the sting of alcohol but lays his hand over the rag as Catherine turns and walks from him. The planks are slippery with blood and littered with bodies and weapons but Catherine doesn't pay any of it heed. Her eyes are fixed on the aft deck and wheel of the ship. She passes Dobby where she sits staring down at Joseph's pale face and climbs the port stairs, clinging to the railing. As she nears the top, she looks beyond Connor where he is kneeling on Sergio's right side. Sergio rests with his back against the ship's wheel and his body twisted at an awkward angle. His left leg with Sonehso:wa's arrow protruding from it is stretched out straight and his right knee is bent so that his boot is under his left knee. His hands lie palm up beside his legs and his head is tipped back and couched between two handles of the wheel. Stray white hairs have escaped from his ponytail and fly about in the breeze; his hat is nowhere to be seen. Bright crimson is just barely visible on the inside edges of his pale lips, as if he has a mouthful of blood but it hasn't spilled from him just yet. Catherine's father in law looks dead until she notices the tomahawk buried in his chest rising and falling subtly with his shallow breathing. Connor disgustedly knocks the expended pistol out of Sergio's reach, sending it spinning across the deck. He takes the other one from his holster, along with a knife, and tosses the weapons carelessly behind him to join the other gun. Satisfied with the man's disarmed state, he extends his hidden blade, spinning it so he can grip it in his left fist.

"Wait…" The word catches in Catherine's aching throat and she has to try again to make it any more than a whisper as Connor shifts forward slightly and raises his blade.

"No! Wait!" Connor turns at the unexpected sound of her voice and extends his right hand across his body toward her in a cautionary gesture as she lurches away from the railing and falls to her knees beside him. She pushes Connor's hand gripping the blade away only to lean close and look carefully at the man who had caused her so much pain and sorrow. Connor retracts his blade and sits back on his heels, allowing Catherine to say what she will before he dispatches the man once and for all. He takes in her bedraggled state with a confused frown and wonders how she managed to fall overboard when she should have been safely on the  _Aquila_. Her wet curls lay heavily down her back and hang over her shoulders. The soles of her feet and bottoms of her pants are stained dark with the spilled blood of their enemies and she presses her left hand to her upper abdomen for a moment before resting it on the deck to support her stance.

Sergio's pale blue eyes slowly open and he lowers his chin slightly to look at who is casting a shadow over him.

"Catherine? Where is my son…" he rasps, coughing weakly once and exposing his bloodstained teeth when he flinches in pain.

"He's dead." Catherine spits out. Sergio closes his eyes again and is silent for a moment. When he reopens them, they move between Catherine and Connor.

"I knew it must be so… since you're here with all this… Assassin filth. I should have known it would be their doing back when I first learned of your… escape." Sergio makes a small motion with his right hand, lifting it up to gesture towards Connor and then dropping it onto his thigh. Connor shifts angrily yet keeps his blades in their places. Sergio turns his head and faces him.

"You. I've waited years to finally confront you and your cursed  _Aquila_ … dreamed of it, even." He hisses out the name of Connor's ship.

"Here I am." Connor says flatly.

"You took my fleet, my pride, my honor..." Connor interrupts him angrily.

"And now I will take your  _life_." He extends his right blade but Catherine reaches to his fist to stop him. Her finger slides over the hard, angular lines of the ring he wears on his middle finger and she glances briefly at the oddly marked piece of jewelry. Movement catches her eye and she turns back to see Sergio weakly flapping his hands over the handle of the tomahawk, as if he wants to grip it but is afraid of the result. He leaves bloody smears on the handle as Catherine moves them away and he drops them to his legs with a sigh and a wince.

"Why did you hate me so much?" Sergio refocuses on Catherine and wrinkles his forehead.

"I never hated you, Catherine. But you were worth far more to me dead than alive." He pauses to breathe and the air rattles in his chest.

"You always did have a more… spirited way about you than that strumpet Francisco favored. So like William…" He raises his right hand toward Catherine's left cheek, brushing her skin with the back of a finger in an affectionate manner that repels her. She slaps his hand away with a gasp that comes close to a sob of bitter disgust. Hearing her father's name spoken from his lips is a stab to her heart and any compliment he might have been seeking to give is so tainted by his corrupt, mathematical perspective that Catherine wants to vomit.

"Don't you say his name! Don't…" She closes her eyes to hold back the painful tears that want to leak from her soul. When she opens them she looks around at the detailed spindles of the railings accented with gilding, the ornate quality of the ship's wheel with its inlaid metal work and the fine craftsmanship of the vessel as a whole.

"So this is what you wanted my inheritance for… the most beautiful slaving fleet in all the world? To become a dealer in men?" Sergio nods.

"A gift. A new and glorious beginning." His words are etched with irony as he pants through his nose and his eyes roll in their sockets in attempt to view as much of his surroundings as possible. Catherine scoffs.

"Gift? You lied to us and then stole everything we had!" Catherine shakes her head and her voice becomes low and hoarse.

"You're a thief. And a murderer. How much did you pay them to get me out of the way? The men who took me?"

"One extra week's wages… and they could have what they wanted from you as they saw fit as long as they killed you. It was an agreeable arrangement." Catherine stiffens at his apathetic words and her lips separate in shock. She shakes her head.

"Not for me." She whispers harshly as she sits up straight and turns to Connor where he kneels beside her. His face is creased with anger and disgust and his body is poised in a frozen half lunge towards Sergio. All of his hatred for the man before him is broadcast in his expression, the tension in his hands and his posture. His eyes delve deeply into Catherine's, and his lips twitch as they compress into an angry grimace.

"This ship…" Catherine says softly to him while slowly shaking her head, unable to finish even her thoughts on it. It's an atrocity, a representation of evil cunning and death.

"It will be destroyed the moment my last man is on the  _Aquila_." Catherine nods at Connor's guttural words but Sergio seems to find a spark of strength remaining in him, for his eyes widen and he struggles to sit up.

"No! NO! It's everything to me!" Catherine clenches her hands so hard her nails dig into her palms. She raises her voice and can't help shouting at him as he wheezes and struggles for breath.

"Then you can sink with it! You used  _my_  inheritance to build this abomination. That makes it  _mine_  to do with as I  _please_  because I'm still here despite your wicked treachery!" She unclenches her fists and reaches to the handle of the tomahawk, sticky with Sergio's blood where he had clasped at it. He raises his hands towards her.

"No, Catherine, you don't understand!"

"Yes, I do!" Sergio screams as Catherine pulls the weapon out of his chest, releasing a deluge of blood that pours down his chest. He clutches at his chest with his hands, attempting to hold his lifeblood inside. How dare he beg for her mercy when even in his final moments he only wishes to preserve his selfish legacy? Her rage overflows and she swings the tomahawk forward with all her strength and a rasping cry of her own, burying it in the front of Sergio's neck. His death is almost instant and his head tips to the side, the luster of life fading from his eyes with the blood that seeps from his body. Through her angry tears, Catherine tugs on the handle, freeing it from his spine and winding her arm back to swing again but Connor grabs her wrist. She briefly struggles against his grip until his voice breaks through her frenzy of anger and heartbreak.

"WildCat! He is dead. Striking him again will not make him more so." The weapon falls from her hand and clangs onto the deck between Connor's knees as Catherine sags against him, weeping and staring at the lifeless form of her father in law. His blood is on her hands and it marks her clothing in a line of spatters that had fallen across her legs as she had pulled the tomahawk from his chest. Her body shakes as wave after powerful wave of emotions, as everchanging and frightening as the bottomless sea, course through her. Connor turns and folds her in his arms, holding her tightly as her hands fist in his jacket and she bows her head against his chest. His coat is damp with sea spray, sweat and the blood of his enemies and it reeks with the acrid, smoky stench of spent gunpowder and the metallic tinge of blood but she doesn't care. Her muddle of emotions resolve into a righteous anger and a despair blacker than the darkest abyss. Catherine presses her face into Connor's chest until she feels the cut on her chin split open and begin to bleed again.

Catherine can no longer hold in her escalating agony and it breaks free of her, tearing itself from her body as a scream and becoming all she can hear or feel until her breath is gone, replaced by the burning pain in her lungs again. Under Connor's hand on her head, she turns her face to the side and he holds her tightly to his body as she chokes frantically for air. Every exhale leaves her with a high, hoarse moan as she loses all control of her rapid breathing. Her whole body moves with every panicked breath and Connor presses his face to the top of her head, speaking soft words to her that she is unable to hear over the loud ringing in her ears and the strange way her mind and trembling body seem to be receding from reality.

Connor holds her tightly until her breathing slows to a more normal rate. The ringing in her ears begins to fade and gradually, sensation returns to her as she pants openmouthed with her right cheek pressed against Connor's chest. She can feel the hard deck beneath her knees, the texture of his jacket clutched in her hands and the occasional deep, reverberating thud of the two ships bumping together on the waves. Gulls cry high overhead and the water slops against the sides of the ships while Connor strokes her cheek. Her racing heart settles and she loosens her aching hands slightly. It hurts, but she takes a much slower, shaking breath. Beyond the crumpled edge of Connor's dark sleeve and the beaded band around his arm that fills most of her vision, the sky is a vivid blue striated with clouds. In that moment, it's the most beautiful sight she can find in such a bleak and miserable state of hopelessness she has found herself in.

"Everything about my life has been a lie… for years! And I allowed myself to be misguided. I allowed it! How many people have died because of  _me_?" Her voice is hoarse and unfamiliar and it echoes in her head and empty heart. Her words disquiet her once again and she shudders in wretched distress. She closes her eyes tightly but more tears squeeze out from under her lids and make burning paths down her cheeks to drip off of her chin. Connor's voice is so quiet it is almost a whisper and Catherine has to concentrate on calming her breathing to hear him.

"Do not blame yourself for the past. It is difficult to accept but it must be done, whether the fault lies with you or another. Your eyes are opened now... for good or bad, your choices are your own... and there can be no lies unless you tell them to yourself." Catherine heaves a sigh and looks up at him. There is sincere empathy in Connor's eyes mixed with great sadness that marks him like no scar on his body ever could. He speaks from experience, for he learned this lesson long ago and will never forget it. Catherine sets her jaw and sits back to wipes her face with trembling hands.

"I just want to go from here." Connor takes her by her upper arms to stand with her. To her surprise, he bends back down, shuts Sergio's eyes and speaks some quiet words to him that sound vaguely similar to what he had helped Catherine say at the small grave in the woods. Respect for life carries over even to Connor's enemies, it seems, and his actions are humbling. He retrieves his tomahawk and slides it into its place on his belt before returning to her side.

Together, they walk down the stairs leading to the main deck. Connor keeps his hand on her back, as if he fears she will fall down without his support. Catherine isn't so sure she won't and is more grateful than ever for his concern. At the bottom, Catherine pauses and starts to look over her shoulder towards where Sergio lies. She stops herself, remembering Connor's words to her. Her choices  _are_  her own, and she won't allow herself to foster regret or guilt, especially not for the man who never once felt an iota of concern for her or anyone else- not even her father, a man he supposedly called a friend. Her pain should be only for those who lost their lives because of him.

Joseph's body is gone from the deck of the ship. His blood marks the wood and Catherine's heart constricts for the loss of such a young and vibrant soul; she is once again taken by the sickening thought that all of this is her doing. Many of the other bodies, those of the men under Sergio's command and the crewmen who had tried to defend the ship are being searched and moved. Aside from Joseph, four other men, one from the  _Aquila_  and three already injured men from  _L'Etoile Polaire_ , succumbed to defeat. Barrels of gunpowder and pitch are rolled out of the cargo holds and distributed around the ship. It seems burning the defeated vessel is standard practice for Connor's crew. In addition to preparing the ship for destruction, the sailors remove supplies from the  _Fenix de Oro_ 's hold, securing barrels of water, ropes, sails, wood and food to replace what was damaged or given away to the people of Great Inagua.

Connor helps Catherine over the railings and escorts her past where Joseph is laid out on the deck of the  _Aquila_  beside the other dead sailors. His body is partly wrapped in cloth. The other men have already had their shrouds prepared and heavy shot is added to the foot section for weights. A rapid yet efficient stitch closes the seam tightly.

Anika rushes over to Catherine and takes her in a hug.

"Oh, my dearest Cat…" she whispers, and Catherine feels herself breaking to pieces all over again. Connor's reassuring touch to her back helps but the pain in her heart wants to crush her.

"I must return to my men. There is much left to do." He says quietly and with evident regret. Catherine nods and attempts to smile. He sees right through her façade, though, and gently touches both of her hands where she clutches Anika's shoulders.

It is the hardest thing for Connor to walk away from the woman he loves when she is so upset but if she is ever to understand what it means for him to be the leader of his men, this day has become her proving ground and it is not over yet. At least she has the love of her sister to help carry her through; it's more than he ever had in his darkest days.

"Let's go inside the cabin." Anika whispers. Catherine starts to go with her but then stops.

"No. I think I should stay. Why should I shield myself from seeing this?" Anika looks at her friend with real worry. She is a complete mess; her hair hangs from her head in wild disarray, as damp as her clothes, which are marked with blood from Connor's jacket. Blood is also smeared on her tearstained face and filthy hands, and more covers the bottoms of her pants and feet. Even more disturbing is the way her reddened eyes move over the  _Aquila_ , settling on one place for only a moment before flitting to another and never once meeting Anika's.

Anika isn't sure what to do and she certainly doesn't agree with Catherine's idea of watching bodies be moved about but she knows she will need to help Jamie as soon as the work is done.

"Alright maybe you can help me patch up the injured men, but first let's get you cleaned up and into some dry clothes." Catherine moves woodenly, allowing Anika to lead her towards the cabin. When they are inside and the door is shut she just stands there in the middle of the room while Anika uncorks the jug of water that they keep handy for themselves and pours some into the washbasin.

"Take those things off, Cat. You're filthy." Anika's words seem to break through to Catherine, for she takes a deep breath and begins to strip off her hide outfit. She approaches and takes the wet washcloth from Anika's hands, lifting it to her face and pressing its coolness over her eyes. Anika uses another to wash the salt and blood from Catherine's neck and arms. When Catherine lowers her cloth from her face, she begins to clean off her hands and Anika is somewhat relieved to see more of her friend than the frightened and haggard shell of a woman who had been standing outside in the sun.

By the time she is dressed in a clean shift, loosely tied corset and the grey and silver dress she had worn out of Albany, Catherine is exhausted. The stress of the day had taken its toll on her body and she leans against the wall as Anika braids her hair. Nevertheless, she insists on returning to the deck of the ship. While Connor and his men continue the task of readying the ship for its imminent destruction and unloading everything of value that can be salvaged, Anika and Catherine join Jamie to aid him with the onslaught of injured men that have begun to trickle back for care.

Clouds are gathering in sky and the sun is setting when the work on the  _Fenix de Oro_  nears its completion. The final task being performed is the coating of the deck and bodies with pitch from several barrels stored on board. Several stacks of gunpowder are placed strategically around the ship and they, too, receive a generous dousing of the dark goo. The last man abandons his empty barrel while the ropes that tether the ships together are untied and collected. Catherine and Anika sit on some of the newly acquired crates that have not been stowed below yet and watch as Connor and Faulkner direct the crew in moving away from the doomed ship. At the farthest distance he can safely take the Aquila while still remaining within range of her guns, Connor orders the anchor dropped. He turns to where Catherine sits and gestures for her to come to him. She does, knowing that this is the moment she will witness the final destruction of her past. She feels as if she is floating and drowning simultaneously as she crosses the distance to Connor.

The  _Aquila_  moves subtly on the smooth ocean and the air is incredibly quiet all around them. The deck is crowded with people as everyone who is able gathers on the deck, joined in the united camaraderie of conclusion. An uncanny hush prevails over them.

"On your mark, Captain." A gunner calls from his place at a swivel gun. Connor stabilizes the wheel with his right hand and gently pulls Catherine against him with his left hand on her stomach. Catherine covers his hand with both of hers.

"The call is yours, WildCat." Catherine breathes in deeply, taking in the sight of the ship in the distance with her four giant masts draped in ragged sails. It seems so much smaller from such a viewpoint yet it holds the only remaining weight on her soul that has dogged her for months. She cranes her neck to look back and up at Connor and he nods.

"Tell them to fire when you are ready."

Time seems to freeze solid and Catherine wills herself to make the call. The silence stretches on for an eternity yet she cannot break out of her inertia. At last, the rigidity in her body slackens and she shakes her head.  
"You do not have to speak. All you have to do is raise your arm." Connor softly encourages her. Catherine silently nods and raises her arm upwards with her fingers closed in a tight fist. The gunner fires a single burning missile at the  _Fenix de Oro_. It arcs through the air silently, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake and lands among a central stack of gun powder. Nothing seems to happen until a glow encompasses the area, at first only a little brighter than the burning fires of the setting sun but quickly building. Without any warning, a massive explosion occurs, erupting outward and causing the other barrels on the ship to ignite as well in a chorus of deafening bursts and leaping light. Catherine jumps at the sight of the enormous fireball that engulfs the ship and Connor tightens his arm around her. An exultant cheer rises on the  _Aquila_  as a plume of smoke fills the air around the  _Fenix de Oro_. The ruined sails and ropes flail in the heat rising from the flames before igniting and burning quickly. Blazing spars fall from the masts and the deck begins to implode. One mast collapses and crashes through the side of the ship, tearing a hole in the hull and letting in water.

The  _Fenix de Oro_  burns for a long time before sinking into the depths of the ocean, leaving bits of smoldering and smoking debris behind to illuminate the darkness of evening and cast lurid streaks of glowing light over the sea. The tip of a shark's fin breaks the surface of the water before plunging down out of sight to feast on the flesh of the dead. Connor pulls Catherine tighter against the front of his body and they observe the grim vision in silence. The destruction of the ship is a victory for all yet Catherine can find no happiness in it. Over by the crates she had been sitting on, Sonehso:wa sits with his wife wrapped in his arms. Anika holds her hands over her face and then wipes her eyes, no doubt finding tears of joy for her sister's freedom in what she sees but Catherine's tears had long since been expended and she watches with dry eyes and a cold heart.

Faulkner orders a crate of Cuban rum taken from the other ship to be brought up. Catherine lowers her head and he looks in her direction.

"It's a traditional way to celebrate a victory, love!"

"I'm not feeling very victorious right now." Catherine doesn't feel celebratory at all but as bottles of rum are passed around she has a few sips with everyone anyway. Several toasts are made to the fallen men of their company first before the real drinking begins. They will be buried at sea the next day. Catherine keeps quiet and prefers to stand at the railing during the revelries, staring off in the direction of where the  _Fenix de Oro_  had last been. The night had become an impenetrable blackness from the cloudy skies and she can't see anything of the wreckage but she knows it's there in the distance. Lanterns sway from dozens of places on the  _Aquila_ , creating an extremely bright atmosphere filled with conversation and laughter, conviviality and friendship but Catherine only wants to retreat away from it. Anika had tried to draw her out of her quietude but she had eventually left her alone. It is during one of the louder bursts of raucous laughter among the crew that Dobby approaches Catherine and sits beside her on the crate she had settled onto.

Catherine tenses and prepares for some barb or another from her but is taken aback when Dobby says nothing and places almost a full dozen of her arrows on the surface between them. They had been carefully cleaned of any traces of blood. The only evidence of them having been used for an actual battle is some faint staining on the white feathers. Catherine picks one up and spins it slowly between the fingers of both hands.

"Thank you." She whispers.

"I saved as many as I could." Dobby says quietly, staring at her hands in her lap.

"I didn't think I'd see any of them again." Dobby only nods in response, picking at her thumbnail. For a brief moment, she raises her face up and the two women regard each other in a new light. Dobby pushes a nearby bottle of rum closer to Catherine.

"It gets easier to deal with in time… this life, what is often lost because of it. We all have our own pain... we just choose to acknowledge the victory instead. You and…" Dobby seems like she is about to say more but she closes her mouth and looks away. She slides off of the crate and takes up the bottle of rum, raising it to her lips and upending it to drink heartily. Replacing it next to Catherine, she walks a few steps before stopping and looking over her shoulder.

"Connor's worried about you. Don't push him away like I did." Catherine's breath catches in her chest at Dobby's words and she watches her until she has descended the steps to the main deck and disappeared among the crowd of gathered revelers.

Making up her mind, Catherine takes the bottle of rum and collects her arrows up to follow after Dobby. She slowly descends the stairs and brings her arrows to her empty quiver hanging in the captain's cabin as she thinks on Dobby's words. She's right. She has known Connor for a long time and even if a relationship with him hadn't worked out, she obviously cares enough about him to want him to be happy. She had gone far outside her comfort zone just being agreeable with her and to have said such things after having displayed such open hostility for so long means a lot. She took enough care to find and preserve as many of her arrows as she could and her actions say more than her words ever could. It's as close to an apology as she'll ever get from her and Catherine has a feeling Dobby won't want it acknowledged publicly or brought up ever again, even in private. The least she can do is respect that and take the one piece of advice she had been kind enough to offer seriously. Everyone had lost someone they care about today in different ways and gained just as many varied victories. Connor is not exempt from that and keeping herself apart from him will only take from what little joy that can be had on a day such as this.

Taking a deep breath and steeling her resolve, Catherine opens the door and walks among the sailors and Assassins. Anika catches her eye and smiles at her with just as much relief on her face as there is happiness. Connor and Faulkner are standing at the very front of the ship on opposite sides of the broken bowsprit and a large group of people are listening to what Faulkner has to say. Connor leans calmly on his right arm resting on top of the railing and one foot is crossed and balanced on its toes behind the other. Faulkner is gesticulating and grinning energetically. As Catherine gets closer, she can hear his animated words and she immediately wants to turn back and disappear.

"…and off she flies like a blasted lunatic, throwin' the axe and 'ittin' 'im dead in the chest! Aye, whoda' thought! But then she's right into the drink and I'm jumpin' in after, jus' to keep me 'ead on me shoulders. If this one found out 'is woman up an' drowns 'erself' tryin to save 'im, I'd end up shark bait in no time!" Faulkner points his thumb at Connor and gestures so wildly during the telling of his story that rum sloshes out of the bottle he carries. He doubles over, wheezing with laughter and slaps his thigh.

To Catherine's dismay, though she pauses and tries to step out of sight behind the sizable form of Owen, Faulkner catches sight of her as he stands upright and he points in her direction with the neck of the rum bottle.

"'Ere's our Lady o' the Lake now!" Owen laughs loudly at Faulkner pointing to him but turns around when he is quickly corrected by Connor's very drunk first mate.

"Not you, ya big lub!" Faulkner guffaws with an already reddened and mirthful face. Owen meets Catherine's widely opened eyes and she shakes her head to attempt convincing him not to reveal her but he smiles widely and brings his arm around her shoulders. He ushers her in front of him and into full view of everyone present. They erupt into loud, drunken cheers when he grasps her wrist and raises her hand high over her head.

"The Lady of the Lake!" Owen bellows.

"The Psiren of the Sea!" Someone cleverly volunteers from the anonymity of the crowd. Connor stands up quickly from the railing and Owen releases Catherine's wrist the moment he sees the Master Assassin's stern face. Gathering as much dignity as she can, Catherine walks stiffly to Connor, grateful for the dimness of the lights around them hiding her burning cheeks. Dobby is also in the crowd but the moment Catherine meets her eyes she turns away and disappears. Catherine chooses the side of Connor that is cast in shadow from the light thrown off by the nearby lantern. A few more shouts and toasts to the Lady of the Lake and her valiant pluck are offered up before the novelty of it all wears off and there are more entertaining things to talk about, stories to tell or songs to be sung.

Connor leans against the railing again and Catherine steps closer to take solace in the comforting weight of his left arm around her body. She reaches over and takes his right hand, raising it up to examine the ring he still wears. He has cleaned his uniform and face off of the blood that marked it but had not taken the time to remove the ring and put it away. Catherine turns his hand to catch the light.

"What is this thing? Faulkner told me it protects you."

Connor extends the fingers of his hand, splaying them out so that more of the ring is visible. Large, blocky numbers cover its surface and the dark metal looks almost oily in appearance yet when Catherine touches it, it is dry, the deep grooves between the numbers creating a subtle, uneven surface. She turns the ring on his finger and stares at the curious numbers and unusually perfect symmetry. Whoever made it must have been very particular and extremely skilled to have crafted something so finely.

"I do not know, but it has the power to divert metal projectiles. Bullets are deflected away from me… most times." Catherine looks up at him.

"It's failed you?"

"You could say that." He turns his hand and shows her a scar that mars the fleshy part of his hand between his thumb and index finger. It is faded from time but he obviously remembers very clearly how he got it.

"Faulkner and I tried a few experiments with it and found that it seems to be rather irregular in its effectiveness." Catherine touches his scar with her fingertips and then takes his hand up to her lips and kisses it.

"I'm glad you were wearing it today." Connor is quiet as Catherine sighs and spins the ring on his finger again. Distant thunder rumbles, heralding the approach of a storm that has been building in from the south all afternoon and evening. When the first drops begin to fall steadily, most of the lanterns are doused and brought below with the crew and passengers. On the crew deck, everything is far more confined and Catherine feels a strong anxiety growing in her. The drinking continues steadily on and as the night has already progressed far, she quietly takes Connor to the side.

"I think I'll make ready for bed." Connor looks at her carefully, searching her eyes with concern.

"I do not like you being alone." Catherine looks across the large space and finds Anika deep in a group of people having a good time. The last thing she wants to do is force her sister to go with her. There is no need for her morose mood to rub off on Anika but she can't stay in the enclosed space any longer.

"I'll be fine. I just need to think for a while. Come here." Catherine reaches up and pulls on Connor's collar until he lowers his head down to her to receive her kiss.

"Stay with your crew and your brothers. You're their Captain and leader. It's your job to enjoy this victory; do it well." Connor gives her a slightly more lingering kiss and then watches her walk up the stairs and out into the rain.

Inside the cabin, Catherine turns up the wick on the lantern, strips down to her shift and loosens her hair. The humidity in the air makes the cabin stuffy so she opens the window and leans on the sill, breathing deeply. It's finally over. She is finally free. It still doesn't feel real but the memories keep replaying over and over in her head: Sergio's words, the weight of the tomahawk handle in her hands and how it felt when she pulled if from his chest and swung it into his neck, the way it came to a sudden stop, lodged in his spine... Catherine's legs feel weak so she pulls the chair from Connor's desk and sits looking out the window, watching the sporadic flashes of lightning and letting the sound of the drumming rain and thunder calm her thoughts. All her sadness and anger leach from her body as she continues to try to comprehend the finality of it all.

From time to time a surge of shouting and laughter swells loudly enough to carry up through the floor and reach her. She smiles and enjoys the thought of Connor getting the honor and accolades he deserves. He had led his men to success; he had led her to her freedom as well yet the more sobering reminders of the losses they had endured still dig deeply into her heart. She sighs and rubs her face before unbraiding her hair completely and delving her fingers into it along her scalp. Somehow it seems that if she could simply weep for what is done she could just move on but the tears won't come. It seems she had wept them all away on the deck of the  _Fenix de Oro_.  _Sergio has taken even these from me_ , she muses bitterly.

A knock sounds on the door. Catherine turns in her chair and faces it, crossing her arms over her chest. The door opens and Connor peeks his head in before the rest of him follows. He carries a mostly empty rum bottle in one hand and his hat in the other as he looks over his shoulder and then stumbles forward down the stairs. He nearly goes down on the floor. His jacket and waistcoat are unbuttoned and the laces are undone on his shirt.

"Are you drunk?" Catherine jumps to her feet, runs to the door and shuts it. As soon as she does, Connor stands straight and holds the bottle out to the side with a wide grin that reminds her of Sonehso:wa as he replaces his hat on his head.

"Maybe a little." The idea of being drunk suddenly doesn't seem like such a bad idea and Catherine takes the bottle from him and tips it up, taking several long swallows before she has to cough from the fumes.

Connor takes a step toward Catherine.

"You saved my life." Catherine shakes her head with a scornful laugh.

"No I didn't. It was the ring… I was much too slow and you would have been dead without it. Maybe you've had more to drink than you think you have." Catherine lifts the bottle and takes another giant mouthful to join him in drunken oblivion and hide her distress before Connor gently pries it from her fingers. He sets the bottle on the shelf beside him and reaches to her face tenderly as she wipes her lips with the back of her hand.

"You did save me." He says softly. Catherine shakes her head and turns her face away. Connor turns it back to him and nods his head, drawing his eyebrows closer together with serious earnesty.

"Yes." He whispers. His insistence brings tears of frustration to Catherine's eyes at last, along with a hopeless disbelief of his words. Her actions were useless and he must know it. Why does he insist on patronizing her?

It breaks Connor's heart that Catherine doubts him. It does not matter that the ring deflected Sergio's bullet; she saved him long ago from a life lacking loving companionship and had given him something real and tangible to live for while he relentlessly pursues a future that often leaves him feeling like he is chasing after the wind despite his many victories. She is here… and now.

Before she can say anything, his mouth is on hers, kissing her softly. He tastes of the spiced rum they shared, the sweetness still on his tongue and the smell of it filling her nose. The wreck of her past is a painful barb in her flesh and Catherine wants nothing more than to rip it free and let herself bleed: pain for pain. Oh, to be lost in something other than the mire of her wretched agony… But it harries her still, stealing away what pleasure she should feel from Connor's kisses. She tries to hold onto the sensations of his lips on her mouth and his hands on her waist and neck but the pain in her heart diverts her mind again and again. An anger at yet another facet of her life being stolen by the same dead man builds inside her until she feels she must either react or drop dead to end it. Catherine takes two handfuls of Connor's open jacket and shoves it roughly down his shoulders.

Connor pulls back from the kiss with surprise at her aggressive act. Her eyes are dark and untamed, full of hungry desire and urgent need. Something else is there too, something obsidian and terrifying, lurking much deeper in her soul. Connor finds himself entranced, struck by the familiarity of it despite never having seen anything like it before in her. He loosens his bracers, tugs his coat off his arms obediently and drops all of it on the floor. Catherine clutches at his sides, grasping his belt and pressing her pelvis hard against his. Connor covers her hands with his gently and whispers to her.

"WildCat…" Catherine shoves him back against the shelving and he keeps his hands on her wrists as she moves to the buckle of his belt and opens it with ferocity. She lifts her face to look up at him and her impassive expression dares him to restrain her. Her eyes are wide and telling with a strange mix of feral anger, sadness and desire. Connor remembers the way he felt the first time he had been in a deadly confrontation. He had reveled in the flush of victory, felt guilt and sadness for taking life, yet strong and directed… power, anger, pain and regret… He sees it all in Catherine and knows now why he recognized what was in her eyes; it was a reflection. Over the years, those feelings had dulled into a constant, hardened core inside him that never really went away but would flare up every so often, usually making Connor seek out solitude and quiet introspection. It flows unrestricted in Catherine, a frightening power she doesn't know how to contain and Connor wishes he knew of a way to slow it down.

When his belt is open, Catherine grabs the two ends and takes a step backward toward the far side of the cabin, jerking on the leather to make him follow. He willingly does yet there is a hesitancy to his movements. His eyes reflect the light of the lantern swaying with the motion of the ship where it hangs in the center of the room and his lips shine from their kisses.

Catherine's anger spreads to herself. Why must she gravitate toward sex now? Is it because it's the one thing she has been able to conquer, to change into something good? It had once represented fear, pain and horror to her but together they have made it something beautiful. This time is different, however, for gentle, caring and soft are not what she wants. For once she needs to feel as if she is in control of something because the prison she has put herself into is threatening to crush her. Connor tries to kiss her again but instead of letting him slowly run his tongue into her mouth to touch hers, she bites his upper lip, hard. Connor makes a low, shocked sound and tightens his fingers against the flesh of her cheek and neck when he tastes blood on his tongue. His reaction is satisfying and even more so when he reciprocates in kind. He moves forward, pushing her with a hand on her shoulder until they crash into the side of his desk and their teeth bump together. Catherine lets go of his belt to reach back with both hands and support herself on the desk. She pushes against him with her mouth and Connor exhales against her lips. His kisses become more forceful as he gathers up her skirt against her thigh until his fingers touch her skin and he reaches between her legs to find her warmth.

Catherine opens her legs and Connor slides his fingers over her soft hair and dips them into her slippery folds. She is so slick with desire that her opening yields to his fingers with very little resistance. As he slides two fingers inside and she cries out against his mouth, he groans with desire at finding her so copiously wet. Catherine reaches up and takes a fistful of his hair at the back of his neck. She twists it tightly and drags down on his head without any concern for the discomfort it may cause, pulling him against her mouth and kissing him hard as he delves into her rapidly with his fingers. Every stroke makes her cry out with blissful pleasure and tilt her hips into his hand, using the desk at her back to her advantage. Connor abruptly backs up, taking his hand from her and immediately ending the building sensation in her body. The loss is almost debilitating and it makes her want to scream in frustration.

Catherine's hand falls from his hair as Connor backs away and watches her panting where she leans against his desk, her hard nipples showing through the thin fabric of her shift. Some of his blood from where she bit him is smeared on the pale skin of her face. She sees him looking at her body and unties the ribbons holding her shift closed, watching him like a starved creature. She quickly pulls the ribbons out of every hole in her bodice and lets it hang open down the front. When she leans further back against the desk, her hips tilt at an enticing angle and the new position of her arms opens the front of her shift until one of her nipples is exposed.

"What are you waiting for?" She whispers angrily through clenched teeth, her ire making her words all the more arousing and out of character for her as she glares at him from under her dark eyebrows. Connor takes his shirt off, the action knocking his hat onto the floor. He stares at the sight of her before him as he unbuttons his pants and kicks his boots off in a hurry, stepping close again when he is naked and looping his right arm low on Catherine's back to lean over her. She grasps the backs of his arms so hard her fingernails dig into his skin. With a sweep of his left hand, Connor knocks everything off his desk: maps, quill, inkwell, letter box and some folded clothing items. The thick glass inkwell rolls in a lazy circle on the floor, splashing black ink over the floorboards, onto an unlucky map and the sides of the desk as papers and letters flutter across the room. Lifting her onto the desk with one arm, Connor lays her on it and reaches down to lift her skirt once again. Dropping to his knees, he lowers his mouth to her and tastes of her tartness, making Catherine drop her head backwards for a moment until she pushes herself up, grabs two handfuls of his hair and drags his face against her. Connor doesn't waste any time with teasing or drawing out her pleasure into a lengthy endeavor. It's obvious she needs an immediate outlet and he is more than willing to give it to her. He strokes his tongue over her sensitive little nub rapidly until Catherine is letting out almost guttural cries and digging her nails into his scalp. Her feet press into the sides of his body under his arms and the muscles in her inner thighs quiver as her body shudders and tumbles over into ecstasy under him.

Catherine's climax is powerful but short lived and it isn't nearly enough to defeat her mind completely. She uses her feet and the grip she has on Connor's hair to haul him up her body. She craves something stronger to blot everything out, a way to cut herself free from her mind; she needs to feel something, anything else as long as it takes her away, even if it hurts. Catherine wraps her legs around Connor's waist and drags on him with all her strength. She finds herself pleading with him, crying out through clenched teeth and fighting back tears.

"Please! Please, Ratonhnhake:ton, please!" Connor pushes into her, giving in to his lust and Catherine's desperation as he succumbs to the memories of how he felt all those years ago. He half lowers and half pushes her down to the desk, reaches to her breasts and kneads them. Catherine places her hands over his and presses down on them until he responds with a rougher touch. She throws her head back, her body shifting on the desk with every thrust from Connor and her unrestrained cries tearing from her in bursts. Connor is enthralled with her inflamed passion and her obvious enjoyment despite what he had seen in her eyes and the pain in her heart. When he leaves her breasts, grasps her hips and pulls her into his next thrust, Catherine grips the sides of his desk and pushes herself even harder into him. Connor fears he will only hurt her if he continues like this but her body is demanding and her loud and vocal reactions goad him on.

Catherine wants to scream out and she bends her knees up to take all of him. Her entire world blessedly constricts to just what she feels as waves of heated bliss crash through her, divided by flashes of beautiful, overwhelming pain that only make the pleasure that resurges in their wake even more exquisite. Every muscle deep inside her contracts, making her forget everything except each vibrant moment as it happens. Connor grips her hips as she bites back a scream, pressing his fingers deeply into the soft skin there as he lifts her off the desk and finishes with several harder thrusts than ever, shouting out in his release to the roof of the cabin. He leans over her with his hands on either side of her body when it is over. Both of them are panting and sweaty and Connor looks down at Catherine's face. Apart, they are broken and haunted by their pasts but maybe together they can be each other's solace, a way to sate the endless flood of emptiness that has torn a hole through them both.

Catherine unclenches her aching fingers from the edges of the desk only to replace them in Connor's hair and pull him close, lifting her head off the desk to kiss him hungrily, easing into softer, lighter kisses as her body relaxes and their breathing slows. She holds his pelvis against hers with her legs around his hips, not wanting to let him go. He lowers his head to her neck and holds her tightly, kissing the soft skin of her shoulder and massaging her other with his hand. Catherine's voice is hoarse when she speaks.

"I can't believe it's over. It's finally over and yet I still feel lost… I'm so angry at everything, Ratonhnhake:ton! But I'm more afraid…." She trembles, clinging to him tightly and Connor has to work at disengaging her curled fingers from his hair so he can look at her. Her eyes shine with tears and she is clenching her teeth. Once again, he is pulled into the memories of how confused and afraid he was so many years ago.

"You do not need to fear. It may seem so but you are not lost."

"Then why does it feel like I can't breathe? Shouldn't I be happy? Shouldn't I feel free?" She disintegrates into shaking tears and Connor sits her up to hold her against his chest. He caresses her hair and back as she clings to him and quietly weeps against his chest.

"Freedom is not easy, WildCat. It does not mean life will be without troubles or difficulty. It simply means no one can make your choices for you. Until now, you worked only to gain your freedom. Did you think about how things would change once you gained it?" Catherine shakes her head and her silky curls move under his hand.

"Never." She leans back and looks up at him.

"I… wasn't sure it would actually happen…" A tear rolls down her cheek and her lips tremble. Connor kisses her and then pulls her close.

"Little Cat…" His whisper is drawn out and she stills in his arms and holds her breath, unaccustomed to hearing her father's nickname for her from him. When Connor says it, it carries an entirely different kind of love.

"It  _has_  happened. And I am here with you to face whatever comes next." Some of the tension leaves her body and she takes several deep breaths. Connor knows she is drained from the events of the day and he carefully lifts her off of the desk. She has tapped into every bit of physical and emotional strength she has in her over the past twenty four hours and it has taken everything from her. Only the sleep of total exhaustion can help her now. She isn't alone in her fatigue. A heavy cloak of weariness drapes over Connor as he lies down on the bunk with her and pulls the sheets up. Catherine lies beside him with her eyes open and her hands clasped between her breasts. Only when he kisses her and pulls her arm across his body does she roll over and position herself the way she used to, when it was just the two of them in the cabin, far from anyone and anything that could touch them.


	25. Davenport

Catherine starts awake in the morning, a half remembered dream just barely clinging to her mind. She feels anxious and melancholy from it but can't recall what it was about so she rolls over to see if Anika is awake, only to discover Connor lying beside her in the pale of just before sunrise. He opens his eyes at her movements and all the events of the previous night flood into her mind. Suddenly the dream isn't a creation of her nightly imaginings anymore. A torrent of distress fills her heart and she covers her mouth as nausea threatens to overwhelm her. The moment Connor sees her face he takes her in his arms and comforts her as she succumbs to her pain, trembling and distraught.

"Ratonhnhake:ton! I killed people yesterday; I don't even know how many… and Sergio… My God, I've turned into a monster!" Catherine moans into his chest, shaking her head. Connor hugs her tightly and sighs with regret as she grips his body and digs her fingers into the skin of his shoulders. He combs his fingers through the hair at the sides of her face soothingly and keeps his voice low and soft.

"You killed only because I bade it. It was not something I wanted for you but I needed your bow. I will never ask it of you again. You are not a monster, WildCat. The fever of battle can overtake anyone, especially when there is… retribution involved. Sergio's life was forfeit from the beginning and it was more fitting for him to give it up to you than to me." Catherine weeps at the remembrance but as she thinks on his words of truth she eventually brings her tears to a halt. Her rapid breathing slowly settles into a more normal rate until she rests silently in Connor's arms and her body begins to relax. Connor thinks she's nodding off until she speaks quietly once more and opens her eyes, moving back from his body to look up at him.

"If you asked me - I _would_ fight for you." She looks up at him and Connor's eyebrows draw together with concern. He moves his hand to her cheek and shakes his head.

"No! Never again. You are strong and brave but I see the torment this has wrought upon you. Your place is in safety, not out here on the dangerous sea or fighting my battles." He watches her face as he speaks and it changes from resolute determination to relief and finally settles into concerned incredulity.

"Is there a place that offers such safety?" she asks. Connor nods slowly.

"I told you long ago that I spent many years learning from a man who lived north of Boston. There, Davenport, is where I will take you. I will make it a haven for Assassins, a rally point and my base. Strengthening the Brotherhood and maintaining the needed order to lead it is more easily accomplished from one location."

"Achilles' manor."

"Yes. It is mine now. And it will be yours, as will I, if that is what you wish." Catherine's eyes open wider at what seems as near to an offer of marriage as she has ever heard from him. She reaches up and rests her hand over his where he touches her face.

"It _is_ what I wish!" she whispers with fervent earnestly.

"Then it will be so." Connor leans close to kiss her softly but she draws back after a moment with more concern on her face. She speaks quickly and her voice shakes as she touches his wrist with her fingers almost nervously.

"I'll be a loyal and dutiful wife to you; I'll give you children… if I'm able… and do my best to make you happy. I won't be a burden or try to hold you back from what you need to do." Catherine's final words are in a pained whisper and she grips his wrist but Connor's lips part and the crease between his eyebrows deepens, exposing his discomfiture at her fretful promises. He shakes his head.

"You need not assure me of such things for I know them to be truth. I only fear falling short of pleasing _you_. I will be unable to give of my time and company as often as you may wish. Even if you never speak of it..." It's Catherine's turn to shake her head at Connor's words.

"Don't. Your responsibilities are necessary for the greater good. They'll often transcend my wishes. I know that well yet it doesn't change my love for you… nor yours for me." Catherine moves her hand to his face, touches his jaw with her finger tips and then hugs him tightly. Connor holds her for a few minutes more before ending their pillow talk and affectionate embrace.

"Come. We must rise with the sun. There are grim and necessary duties we _all_ must attend to this day." Catherine nods solemnly, knowing the morning will be difficult for everyone on board. They dress quickly and exchange a brief but loving kiss at the door before Connor opens it.

Catherine and Connor emerge into the brightness of morning together. On deck, the sea is as smooth as glass under the tropical, mid-morning sun and the _Aquila_ is rocking slightly in the gentle breeze that occasionally meanders among the masts. The pouring rain of the night before has washed away all evidence of the blood that had stained the decks, leaving behind clear blue skies and calm tranquility as striking counterpoints to the turmoil of battle and the ferocity of a Caribbean squall.

Connor's appearance is the signal everyone had been waiting for; the sailors belonging to both the _Aquila_ and _L'Etoile Polaire_ gather silently on deck with the Assassins. Many are bearing bandages and walk with limping gaits but they stand in orderly, quiet lines on the deck. There are no speeches for the dead, nor are there any prayers. The sea is both a sailor's fickle mistress and revered god, so to it they all must return. One by one, the canvas wrapped bodies are respectfully lifted and thrown over the side of the _Aquila_ to their watery graves, quickly sinking out of sight into the depths even as the sound of their names, spoken solemnly by Faulkner, echo across the water. In total, six men from _L'Etoile Polaire_ had succumbed to death either from their injuries in the first fight or from the battle aboard the _Fenix de Oro_. Two of those men had passed overnight; their injuries were too great for them to survive. An additional man of the _Aquila_ 's own crew had also died and though Joseph is the only lost Assassin, he will share a sailor's grave with the rest. In the warm climate of the Caribbean, with no way to preserve the body, it would be impossible to return him to Albany and Isaac assures Connor that he never had family there anyway.

Joseph's body is the last of the nine to be given to the hungry sea and when it is done the group disperses quietly. Faulkner approaches Connor. He eyes Catherine cautiously and she lowers her face down, feeling a flush of some embarrassment coloring her cheeks at his having to rescue her from the water and his resultant drunken storytelling.

"Alright, boy. This ship is in sore shape. She needs an o'erhaul or we ain't goin' nowhere fast."

"I agree. We should be able to rebuild with what we have in the cargo hold."

"Then let's get t' work." Faulkner slaps Connor's shoulder and points to the nearest sailors.

"You an' you! Get up t' those yardarms and start cuttin' that frayed riggin' down! You three go below decks an' haul up the spoils we took. We're gonna need it all."

Catherine leaves the men to their business and walks up the stairs to the deck above the captains' cabin. She wanders to the railing and looks over towards where the desolation of the _Fenix de Oro_ had been carried out. Only a single, unidentifiable chunk of charred wood bobs on the ripples beside the anchored _Aquila;_ the rest of the open water is unblemished by any evidence of the conflagration that had lit the previous night's sky or of the enormous schooner that had hosted such a haunting show of total destruction. So complete was the ruin that the ship had burned completely, been swallowed by the waves or drifted away with the tides and currents of the turquoise water.

Anika seems to materialize by Catherine's side and she takes her hand in a comforting way, as only sisters and the best of friends understand. Together, they stare off across the smooth expanse that is so deceptively beautiful; its peacefulness and soothing shade of blue are a convincing lie that covers immense power, destruction and death.

The sailors quickly trade the solemnity of death for taking up the necessary repairs to make the _Aquila_ seaworthy again and under Connor's and Faulkner's orders they steadily carry their tools and supplies out of the cargo hold. A single man begins to sing and the rest of the crew join him, their voices casting off the last vestiges of the funerary atmosphere that had attempted to cling to the day. Anika tightens her fingers in Catherine's hand.

"Everything's going to be alright, Cat."

"I know it will." Anika smiles and a comfortable quiet spreads between them for some time. The women watch the men moving high in the sails and crawling over the sides and bow of the ship, repairing damaged wood work, replacing spars and canvas, fastening new rigging and cleaning the deck. All around them, the sounds of hammers and singing, raucous laughter and banter fill the air with life and vigor. When Catherine next speaks, it is as if she is talking to the air.

"Where did you sleep last night?" Catherine shifts her eyes to her friend after she asks the question. Anika's face breaks into a mirthful smile.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do! We took over the cabin without even telling you."

"We knew you wanted to be alone. Sonehso:wa got the key to the brig from Faulkner."

"The brig!"

"It's quite nice, actually, with the sleeping mats and a lantern. It's the only space in the hold that isn't cluttered with cargo and all it needed was a sweeping to get the dust out. I don't think it ever gets used."

"How romantic!" The two women share a happy moment of laughter at the ridiculous nature of it all. Connor looks over his shoulder at the sound of them and offers a subtle nod before turning his attention back to the many goings on. Faulkner walks with him along the perimeter of the ship and together they supervise the repair of the _Aquila_.

The women occupy themselves while the men work, making Anika and Sonehso:wa's unusual hideaway more comfortable and private, doing some small repairs on clothing items and helping the cook prepare and serve food for the many hungry men working above. The day is slowly whittled away with busy hands and the constant sounds and movement of hard work and diligent efforts.

Just as evening starts to fall the work winds down. Though the figurehead remains in its damaged state, with almost half of one side sheared off and the remaining portion pitted and splintered, the rest of the ship has transformed under the industrious hands of the sailors. Railings are whole and repainted, bright, fresh sails gleam overhead, the broken bowsprit has been carefully cut and a new one has been fitted and joined to it, sealed with pitch and lashed tightly with ropes. New ropes are pale and golden beside the darker appearance of the older, undamaged rigging and the smells of pitch, fresh wood and paint mingle with the sea air.

With the _Aquila_ ready to sail homeward in the morning, coupled with the successful completion of so much work, an air of festivity takes over. There is an abundance of spoils from the _Fenix de Oro_ so a second night of revelry ensues.

"Come on, Cat. I want to dance but Sonehso:wa doesn't know the steps. You do." Anika takes Catherine's hands and cajoles her off of the barrel she is sitting on next to Connor.

"Ani…" Catherine isn't given a moment more to talk before Anika has begun to dance. She holds up an imaginary skirt with her hand and tugs on Catherine with the other. Catherine barely manages to hand off her cup of rum to Connor as Anika drags her farther out onto the deck of the ship. Raising her eyebrows and pulling a face, Anika finally gets her sister to laugh. They join in with the beat of stomping feet, clapping hands and the sound of fiddles and singing. Two of the more brazen sailors from _L'Etoile Polaire_ join them and the women split apart to dance with their new partners. Before long, Aveline and Dobby have partnered up and around the deck of the _Aquila_ the four couples go, spinning, laughing and gamely switching up partners until the fiddlers stop for a rest. Catherine and Anika return to where Connor and Sonehso:wa are sitting. Both of the women are out of breath and Catherine is surprised at how easily she had been able to join in the revelry. Connor hands her her mug and she tosses back its contents as if it were water.

The fiddlers take up a slower song and Catherine pulls on Connor, laughing when he shakes his head.

"Come on, Captain Killjoy! On your feet!" No matter how hard she pulls on his arm, she is incapable of making him budge. He looks up at her with all his pleadings and protests in his eyes.

"How much rum have you had, WildCat?"

"Not enough! And neither have you, apparently! Come on!"

"I do not know all your dances."

"I can show you!"

"No, thank you." Catherine leans against Connor's arm in defeat but then snatches his hat from his head. She puts it on, sets her hands jauntily on her hips and swaggers over to Anika and Sonehso:wa. She takes Sonehso:wa's sleeve and tugs on it.

"I'm the captain of this ship! I order you to come here and learn to dance!" Sonehso:wa laughs loudly at her antics and Anika gives him a nudge on his elbow.

"Go on! The Captain-ess gave an order. I need a rest." Sonehso:wa's laugh becomes even more raucous and he jumps to his feet, letting Catherine lead him out. Connor's hat is much too big for her and she keeps resetting it on her head as she shows Sonehso:wa how to move his feet. Every time she looks up she has to tip it backwards so she can see him. Finally, Sonehso:wa takes it from her head and tosses it back to Connor. He learns the steps quickly and before long he is swinging in a wide arc with Catherine laughing in his arms.

"Dip me!" Catherine cries and Sonehso:wa complies, giving Connor a devilish grin just before landing a kiss just above her collar bone. Catherine gasps and slaps Sonehso:wa's arm with a lilting laugh as he lifts her back up.

"Brother." Connor rumbles and Anika giggles beside him at his warning tone. It's threatening yet they all know Sonehso:wa's flirtations are harmless. She leans over and pats Connor's arm, giving him a kiss of her own on his cheek.

"He's just having fun. He knows better than to mean it."

"Perhaps he has danced with her for too long…" Connor says slyly to Anika as he slowly gets up and approaches them. He uses the back of his hand on Sonehso:wa's chest to move him aside and then takes Catherine's hands from his.

"I thought you didn't know how to dance."

"I said I do not know _all_ your dances. I know some. Achilles insisted I learn so when attending weddings I would not 'slouch in the corner like a dullard,' as he would say. It would seem that his persistence in the matter has paid off." Connor leads her into the steps rather adeptly and Catherine smirks up at him.

"And yet it takes another man kissing me to motivate you."

"Any other man than my brother would be trying to swim with a broken arm right now." Connor's serious tone is marred by the subtle quirking of his lips as he tries to contain his sardonic humor but it only makes Catherine laugh at him and affect the exaggerated simper of a fragile woman. She raises the back of one hand to her forehead and tips her head backwards.

"My valiant, strong hero… Oh! Hold me! I fear I might faint!" Connor shakes his head at her goading but then dances two more songs with her. As they walk back to their friends, he questions her.

"Are you satisfied?" A hint of sarcasm still colors his words but Catherine takes his hand as she sits beside him and leans back against the railing.

"Quite! Was it so awful?" Catherine says with a laugh.

"It is not my preferred way but with you it was… tolerable." Catherine's laughter peals out at his quiet understatement and when she has caught her breath, she sits up and lifts the bottle of rum from the deck at their feet.

"Tolerable! Here, have some of this, then. It might make you forget your recent misery!" Catherine fills her cup with rum and offers it to Connor, keeping her hand on it and lifting her chin up under his face until he kisses her. She releases the cup to him and he takes a small sip but Catherine ends up stealing it back from him several times.

When at last she follows Connor to his cabin, significantly more intoxicated than he is and clinging to his arm, she clumsily falls onto the bed and is asleep before he can join her.

In the morning Catherine wakes alone but the sheets and pillow still bear the mark of Connor's body where he slept beside her. The _Aquila_ pitches on the waves and the sounds of a busy crew reach her ears. Judging by the brightness of the sun coming through the shuttered windows and Connor's early morning tendencies, the ship must have been under way for hours. When Catherine steps down from the bunk, her toes brush her moccasins but she doesn't remember putting them there. An embarrassed smile crosses her face as she reasons that Connor must have taken them off for her. She shakes her head and a brief wave of dizziness reminds her that she drank far too heavily the night before. There is nothing else for her to put on other than her moccasins, for she had slept in her clothes. The wrinkles are unsightly and she does her best to tug them smooth once again. A quick drink of water helps to settle her stomach and she opens the door to the steady wind of the ship at full sail.

Connor brings the _Aquila_ around the island of Cuba towards the north coast and the city of Havana where Aveline has requested he drop her and the crew of _L'Etoile Polaire_ who wish to join in the search. As the largest port city in the island nation, she hopes to make use of the resources available to her there as a jumping off point for her new mission.

The woman herself stands near the prow of the ship with Connor, Josiah, Gerald and Ambrose. The crew of _L'Etoile Polaire_ are gathered around and she is pacing back and forth, addressing them. Some of her words drift back to Catherine and she catches a little of what she is saying.

"…the odds are low that we'll find our men on the island. That doesn't mean we'll stop searching but I must impress on you all that I'm not expecting this to be a job done in one day. Those of you who come with me must be _committed_ and willing to follow my orders. Anyone who has a problem with that will be dismissed without receiving compensation for any previous actions taken. I'm capable of finding the LaFitte brothers with only my men here..." The wind carries away the rest but Catherine is once again struck by her forceful presence and knows she would be a formidable woman to cross.

After Aveline's briefing, Connor gives the men from _L'Etoile Polaire_ the option of staying on as crew members of the _Aquila_ if they do not wish to follow Aveline but only two accept his offer. The rest are more than ready to go in search of a fight and already, almost as soon as they are dismissed to go about their business, Josiah has to knock some obedience into a few of them who foolishly begin to question Aveline's position of leadership a little too loudly among themselves. Connor watches it happen with his hand resting on his tomahawk but does not intervene.

Only a day later on the 26th of June, Connor docks the _Aquila_ at Havana. Aveline's crew of jilted sailors are eager to be on their way in finding retribution and Aveline is more than willing to satisfy their thirst for vengeance. Just as cheated by Jean and Pierre's duplicity, she spares little time for goodbyes. Both Catherine and Anika take her hands and kiss her cheeks, saddened to see such an awe-inspiring, gracious woman leave their company so soon but her determination is clear to see.

"Connor, when this is done and I'm back in New Orleans I will write to inform you of the end of this. Don't hesitate to contact me if you have need of my aid. You're sure you don't need these letters?" Aveline pats the bag she carries over her shoulder.

"I am certain. There was nothing in them that could aid me that I did not know already. They are yours." The two Master Assassins grasp each other's forearms solidly. Connor nods at Aveline and she spares a glance at Catherine where she and Anika are bidding farewells to Ambrose where he stands at the top of the ship's ramp.

"You're more fortunate than most in our position..." Aveline's eyes slip over to Gerald where he is taking the names of each man who is joining with them and setting down in writing an agreed upon stipend to be delivered when the work is complete. Connor follows her gaze and briefly tightens his grip on her arm.

"Even if circumstances cannot be ideal, what you have should be valued as well. It is not without merit." Aveline's gaze lingers on Gerald for a moment longer before she returns to Connor.

"You're words are true, Connor, if not easy to accept. Always the pragmatic man. Farewell." Connor nods again and they release their hold on each other's arms.

Faulkner takes charge of the two men who remain behind on the _Aquila_. One other man wants nothing to do with either group and leaves to find his fortunes elsewhere.

The _Aquila_ stays docked in Havana only long enough to unload the few items of value the sailors had taken on board with them and for Connor to arrange with the harbormaster for two ships loaded with food, water, building materials, clothing and other essential items for rebuilding and sustaining a community to be sent back to Heneagua. As soon as Aveline, Joseph, Ambrose, Gerald and their motley bunch of sailors turn their backs to walk into the bustling port city, Connor orders the _Aquila's_ heavy ropes hauled in and they set sail for the open Caribbean ocean and the colder, northern waters of the Atlantic.

With no pressing matters to attend to or rendezvous to rush them, the atmosphere on board the _Aquila_ is tranquil and somewhat leisurely. Though the sailors work hard maintaining the sails and rigging and Connor and Faulkner are tireless in keeping their course steady and true, the journey feels more like a holiday or pleasure cruise. Drills and races are infrequent and usually the result of some friendly bet or another between the crew and Assassins. Connor is visibly at ease and both he and Faulkner allow the other sailors to man the wheel more frequently than when they had travelled the same seas just two short weeks prior. Sonehso:wa is regularly at it and when he isn't there or disappearing with Anika at odd times, he can be found up in the rigging working the ropes and pulleys or on lookout.

Catherine joins Connor on clear nights when he takes readings with the sextant to determine their location and mark it on the map kept on his desk. She has become rather skilled with the instrument and Connor is amused and delighted by her interest in it. During the day, she enjoys finding a shady spot to sit in, alone, with Anika or anyone else who wants to join her, and watches the movements of everyone working. One of Sergio's log books was almost empty so she had torn the marked pages out of it, put them inside the back cover of one of the other ones and turned it into a journal. She often scribbles in it, trying her hand at sketching or writing. Mostly she idly writes down her thoughts and feelings, hoping they will resolve into something she can deal with but after delving into some of her darker moments of self loathing and fear one day, Catherine is unable to stop the tears that burn her eyes and run down her face. She quickly closes the journal with the quill inside, picks up the inkwell and walks hastily to the Captain's Cabin.

Connor watches her rush past a laughing group without acknowledging their greetings. Her head is lowered and her shoulders are hunched; she is never so impolite. Connor hands off the wheel to a nearby sailor and descends the stairs to investigate. He finds her sitting at his desk, weeping and resting her head on her hands. He crosses the small space to stand on her right side and she leans against his hip with her eyes closed, making an obvious effort to calm herself by breathing deeply. Connor eyes the journal on his desk with skepticism, respectful of her privacy yet curious to know what had upset her so. He runs his fingers over the side of her neck soothingly.

"May I read what you wrote in that book?" Catherine nods her head against him, raising her left hand up to press her curled fingers against her lips, so Connor reaches down with his right hand to angle the book towards him and open to the place where the quill rests inside. The writing is smudged from Catherine's hasty closure of the journal before the ink could dry on the page.

… _I'm nothing more than a selfish, petulant girl who has no knowledge or appreciation of the world around her. All I feel is anger and disgust for my ignorance and I lack the strength to make it stop. Yet I don't deserve such peace. Father would be so disappointed for he raised me better than this. He taught me to be generous to others, to love all people and most of all, to be grateful for the very air I breathe. And here I sit, a murderess and a thief, basking in the art of laziness and playing the ingénue while all around me, along the paths my feet have trod and at the bottom of the sea, lie a graveyard of countless men and one woman who have all died because I selfishly couldn't take the hand that was dealt to me six months ago. Are some people meant to die? Should I not have been one of them? God help me, perhaps this is to by my punishment for my wickedness- I cry injustice yet I perform the very same acts in so-called retribution, destrying a fortune's worth of ships and stealing away the lives of the men on them like some vengeful creature. Does one wrong justify another?_

"WildCat… what do you mean by these loathsome words?" Connor's heart constricts at her gloomy thoughts. He flips back a few pages and scans her disjointed writings, finding several entries to be dark in nature. Those entries break up a hodgepodge collection of idle drawings, expressions of love for Connor, observations of the crew or appreciation for the beauty of their watery surroundings.

"It's the truth. Nothing more." Connor shuts the journal and slides it aside, easing himself down onto his left knee beside her. Catherine lowers her head and stares at her ink smudged right thumb and forefinger.

"It may contain a few fragments of fact but it is not the truth. What happened was necessary."

"You're used to seeing such things… doing such things. I'm not made like you."  
"No, you are not like me but that is as it should be. You see the world differently; you see the good in people. That makes it harder to do what needs to be done." Catherine raises her head to look at Connor.

"You see good in people! How does that factor in at all?"

"I bury those sentiments. When the mission is vital, emotion can play no part in my actions or I will fail. When it is over my deeds cannot be undone by regret."

"So you lock them away… somewhere… somehow?"

"Yes. It is not always easy but it is imperative to my survival. When it is a common occurrence, it has a hardening effect. That is why I do not wish for you to take a direct part in further bloodshed or anything else to do with the missions of my Brotherhood. Even without your standards of marriage in place, you are my wife - a counterpart and a companion – not my Sister in arms. It was at my command that you fought and because of that you are absolved of any responsibility. If anyone must answer for what transpired, it will be me alone." Connor takes Catherine's hands as he lets out a long breath. His voice becomes softer as he continues.

"You are an innocent. There is no need to punish yourself needlessly. Write these things if you must but once you have done so… let them leave you forever. Do not sacrifice the gentleness of your heart any more than you have been obliged to already." Connor tightens his hand on hers and she stares at it, taking a shuddering breath. Catherine allows his sentiments to settle in her mind. Looking at his face, she isn't surprised to see more worry in Connor's fiery eyes and expression than she had heard in his voice. She sighs and grips his hands.

"I'll do my best. Perhaps all I need is time." Some of the tension leaves Connor's face at last.

"You have me as well. There is more good in you than most and you, above all the rest, do _not_ deserve death. That is not your lot and never will I let it be so." Catherine smiles at his sincere words and leans forward, moving his braid behind his ear and slightly dislodging his hat as she does. She whispers to him.

"I'm grateful for you, for your love..." They share a somewhat lingering kiss before Connor stands up. He raises an eyebrow at her as he settles his hat again.

"Do not hide in here all day."

"I won't." Connor nods at her promise, takes Catherine's face in his hands and bends to kiss her forehead. He draws back and his eyes delve into hers, as if seeking out an additional, silent promise from her heart. So satisfied by her open return of his gaze, he kisses her again, stands upright and leaves the cabin to return to the wheel of his ship.

Only three days later and two weeks into their northward journey, Connor waits for Catherine outside the captain's cabin. He finds himself more anxious this afternoon than he has felt in some time even though he views what he is about to do as a foreign formality. He touches the braided gold fringes that adorn the shoulders of his dark blue jacket and the decorative gold chain that hangs from two of his buttons on his chest. The embellishments are part of the uniform that he always keeps stored away, unnecessary and somewhat gaudy in his opinion, but he had taken them out of the desk drawer on a whim. He repeatedly smoothes the heavy fabric of his Captain's coat over his sides, tapping his pockets and checking the buttons that run down the front of his chest. At last, when he's scratching at a bit of salt on the corner of his jacket, the door to the cabin opens just far enough to allow Anika's head through. Connor peers into the shadowy darkness behind her and she gasps, reaching out her arm to push him away while scolding him.

"Stop that! Close your eyes!" Connor looks at her suspiciously and then closes his eyes as she had commanded, folding his restless hands at his waist. He hears a shuffling of feet, bursts of contained, girlish laughter and the creak of the door hinges before Anika speaks again.

"Alright. You can open them now." Catherine stands before him in the doorway, adorned in the gauzy turquoise dress she had been wearing on their fateful last night on Heneagua. A thin, beaded necklace of smooth, white shell pieces Connor had seen her wearing from time to time back at the village hangs around her neck. Her dark curls fall loose around her shoulders and the bright sun illuminates her eyes, making them appear bluer than usual. They sparkle as she steps forward with a somewhat shy smile and slips her left hand behind Connor's right arm, insinuating it between his elbow and the side of his body as she turns to face Anika. Anika reaches up and adjusts Connor's white silk scarf around his neck so the folds are even, smoothes her hands down his lapels and then twirls one of Catherine's curls to make it stay together better. She smiles and kisses them both on their cheeks.

"Well... What are you waiting for?" she laughs, making a shooing gesture with her hands. Connor and Catherine exchange a glance and then together they climb the stairs to the stern deck, passing a grinning Sonehso:wa waiting at the bottom for Anika. They approach Duncan where he stands a few steps behind Faulkner near the very rear railing of the _Aquila_. Faulkner raises his eyebrows high and leans on the wheel as they near his position.

"What are ya two on about? Ya look right smug and over-dressed for a leisurely stroll." Connor and Catherine pause near him. Connor stands stiffly beside Catherine and answers him.

"We are getting married." Faulkner's eyebrows raise on his forehead and a grin forms on his face.

"Well, I'll be! You coulda' told me, boy! I knew somethin' was brewin' the minute I saw ya' shufflin' yer feet down by yer own door and that one lookin' all pious." Faulkner gestures in Duncan's direction, breaking into irreverent laughter and Connor clenches his jaw.

"He has agreed to wed us despite setting aside his former religious occupation to join the Brotherhood." Connor's words are almost lost by Faulkner's laughing, though he waves his hand in the air and nods, indicating that he heard him. Connor sighs and leads Catherine beyond him to stand in front of Duncan. He has his lips pressed tightly together at Faulkner's disrespectful behavior. Behind them, the first mate's bellowing hilarity quickly transforms into labored wheezing so he pounds a fist on his chest. The noise of his mirth draws many of the Assassins to their location to see what the fuss is about though once they see the layout of those present, the purpose is obvious. They join Anika and Sonehso:wa to lean on the railings and watch the happenings with open amusement and genuine interest.

A general hush settles over the ship and only the creaking of the rigging and the blowing wind breaks the quietude.

"I would rather keep this short, if that's alright with you." Duncan says rather formally. Connor nods and Catherine offers up a nervous smile.

"Of course, Mr. Little. I understand your reservations." Duncan looks between the two of them and then out at those assembled.

"Very well. Let us begin. Since by all accounts this is a very unusual circumstance for matrimony, lacking a father for the giving of the bride, dowries and such, I'll keep to just the vows." He looks at Catherine and smiles encouragingly at her before beginning.

"Do you, Catherine Parry- daughter of the late William Parry of New York- take this man, Captain Connor of the _Aquila_ and of… of his respective people..." Duncan hesitates and glances nervously at Connor but he merely nods his head for him to continue.

"… to be your lawfully wedded husband before the eyes of God and these witnesses, to love and cherish until the end of your days?" Catherine smiles and squeezes Connor's elbow.

"I do." Duncan turns his attention to Connor.

"And do you, Captain Connor," Connor shifts his feet and interrupts him unexpectedly.

"Ratonhnhake:ton. Ratonhnhake:ton, son of Kaniehti:io of the Kanien'keha:ka Turtle Clan in the village of Kanatahseton. That is my true name and origin."

"I see. Very good." Duncan licks his lips and neatly avoids repeating Connor's words for fear of pronouncing any of the names or titles incorrectly.

"Do you… take this woman Catherine Parry - daughter of the late William Parry of New York- to be your lawfully wedded wife before the eyes of God and these witnesses, to love and cherish until the end of your days?"

"Yes." A smile twitches at the corners of Duncan's mouth but he regains his composure.

"I suppose there aren't any rings to be exchanged at this time, are there?" Connor steps slightly away from Catherine as she starts to shake her head and she looks up at him strangely.

"If I may, Catherine…" He reaches into his left pocket and then withdraws his closed hand to hold it behind his back. With his right hand he reaches out to take up Catherine's left, couching it gently in his fingers. When he brings his other hand forward and opens it, a small, golden wedding ring sits in it, almost lost in Connor's large palm. Catherine gasps quietly and covers her mouth with her right hand. All she can do is nod her head in response so Connor gently slides it onto her left ring finger, twisting it slightly to maneuver it over her knuckle and settle it into place.

"I hope it is not uncouth of me to take such liberties with this ring. It belongs to you and is a reminder of your mother but your sister suggested that it would be… acceptable." Catherine glances over at where Anika is standing next to Sonehso:wa against the railing. She has her hands clasped tightly and held in front of her face but when she sees Catherine looking she lowers and opens them to cover her heart with an affectionate smile.

"It's perfect." Catherine manages to whisper.

"She had me try on the one belonging to your father but it does not fit the correct finger. I am sorry." Catherine shakes her head.

"It's alright. It's not your custom to wear a ring anyway."

"You are not dissatisfied?" Faulkner turns abruptly from the wheel and gestures impatiently with his hand at Connor.

"Dammit, boy! Quit yer pointless drivel and kiss yer wife." Connor scowls at his tone but Catherine laughs as she steps closer to him and reaches her hands to his upper arms. She looks over at Duncan and he quickly concludes the wedding.

"With the power vested in me by the Lord, I pronounce you Man and Wife." Catherine smiles and whispers to Connor.

" _Now_ you can kiss me!" Connor appears flustered as he glances around at the crowd watching them expectantly but then sets his jaw, leans down and heartily kisses her, taking her by surprise as he pulls her in tightly. The sailors and Assassins who had gathered to watch the event cheer wildly, clap, stomp their feet on the deck and whistle in celebration. The sounds surround them and come from all sides, even from up in the rigging. Amid the happy din, the two lovers separate slightly and smile at each other. Catherine laughs out joyously and reaches up to tap his hat.

"I'll call you Captain Husband from this day forward!" Connor shakes his head with a long suffering expression on his face as well as a content smile.

"I prefer my real name but I suppose when we are on the ship the other will do." Before Catherine can say anything back, he kisses her again, lifting her up until her toes come off the deck.

The summer seas are fair and the winds carry them steadily northward. Anika and Catherine know they have a limited amount of time left together and become almost inseparable. When the _Aquila_ inevitably angles in toward the west, leaving the deep, open waters behind and trading a subtly curved horizon of ocean for the uneven shore in the distance, the general feeling changes on board. A form of restlessness takes over, for Connor's decision about the future of the Brotherhood and his role means an imminent transition of great magnitude that will significantly change many of their lives.

It is with somewhat heavy hearts that Catherine and Anika stand at the prow of the _Aquila_ as Connor navigates her into New York harbor late in the morning on the 23rd of July. The sounds of the city are loud enough to reach them and be heard among the calls of Connor and the sailors even before they're half-way into the harbor. One of the deep water docks for larger ships is available so Connor is able to tie the _Aquila_ up at the convenient wooden pier.

Jamie, Dobby and Jacob are happy to have returned to their home city and it isn't long before they are bidding their farewells to everyone. Dobby and Catherine embrace briefly but don't exchange any words. It isn't necessary, for everything they could have had any need of saying had already been mentioned weeks before. Even Catherine's marriage to Connor hadn't ruffled as many of Dobby's feathers as she had been expecting. Connor had spent some time speaking with her the night before and they evidently had cleared away the strain that had been the source of their contention. Dobby had merely toasted the couple and given her congratulations with everyone else. Catherine suspects Dobby could become an acquaintance or maybe even a friend if the circumstances of the future allow for it so she smiles at her and squeezes her hands after they step back from their hug.

In preparation for her and Sonehso:wa's imminent travels, Anika had attempted to don one of the dresses she had worn only two months past but nothing fits her anymore. None of the dresses are designed for accommodating pregnancy so she had changed back into her hide clothing with some concern. Even her tunic had become slightly too tight over her growing stomach. Catherine had refused to attempt constricting her at all with a corset, appalled at the mere suggestion.

As Jacob is passing by with his belongings, he overhears Anika mentioning her conundrum regarding her clothing to Sonehso:wa and Isaac.

"I don't wish to draw attention to myself in such a way. I know Sergio's men were different but there is still very little positive sentiment regarding your people. Our people. Few will understand and I fear violence."

"I will not let you come to harm."

"It's not me I'm worried about!" Isaac rubs his chin and agrees with her.

"She's right. Even I had never seen a woman dressed in such a way until Catherine showed up with Connor on my doorstep. It's obvious by her clothing more than her youth that she isn't my wife or Peter's, so if it's known she's travelling with you… It's not nearly such a concern outside the city or in Albany but her argument has greater merit here. There are those who hate your people and would despise that a white woman has married you, taken on your customs and now bears your child. Only the lowest of the low would dare assault a pregnant woman beyond a verbal attack but many would love to take out their hate on a so-called savage, who they would say bewitched and raped her. Times are changing but Lord knows Connor has faced such prejudices all his life, being of mixed heritage. I can only hope your little one will fare better by the time he or she is born." Sonehso:wa frowns and clenches his fists angrily. Anika touches his arm and looks up at him with concern in her expression.

"It's true, my dearest. I only want to do this for convenience. I don't wish to hide our love, only protect it." Sonehso:wa nods his head.

"I encountered such a man the first time I came to this city. He was eager for a fight." Jacob approaches with his hand outstretched.

"Forgive me for overhearing… Let me speak with my wife. She may have a solution to this problem. If you will wait for a later ship to Albany you may be able to avoid any unnecessary attention."

Jacob accompanies Connor and Faulkner to the harbormaster before seeking out his wife. In under two hours, he returns with Wilhemina. Onboard, Wilhemina presents Anika with a cream and brown colored dress and is delighted to see that it fits her with room to spare. A few quick stitches by Catherine and Wilhemina to pleat the extra fabric is all it takes to allow her to be inconspicuously attired in the city.

"We'll stay here for a few hours before accompanying , Mr. Black and Mr. Gansevoort on a ship bound for Albany. It leaves at eight in the evening." Anika says to Catherine as they walk along the waterfront, arm in arm, blending in with the crowds and observing the bustle of the city.

"I'll be sad to see you go. I wish we could travel with you to the village but Connor has already sent messages out to his men that they must report to Davenport at their earliest convenience. He's certain of the path he must take and I'll follow him, even if it's away from you." Anika nods and smiles at her.

"Well. We can always write. I would love to come with you to your new home but Sonehso:wa wants to get me back to the village before I get much farther along. He's right. It would be difficult to travel if we wait much longer."

"What if you had your baby in Davenport? There's a doctor there. It would be safer." Anika stops Catherine and they face each other.

"Oh, my sweet sister! I know you fear the risks of childbirth because of your mother but I don't share your fear. My mother had three children and she was fine. She might have had another if the epidemic hadn't taken her. You don't need to worry about me." Anika's voice is confident and Catherine forces herself to keep her arguments to herself. After all, doctors couldn't save her mother and it didn't matter that her father had had more than one attempt to help her as she faded right before his eyes. She only hopes that if she is ever fortunate enough to bear Connor's children, she will escape the fate her mother had.

Time passes too quickly and Catherine and Connor accompany Anika, Sonehso:wa, Peter, Isaac and Owen to the river docks. Anika and Catherine delay as long as possible but Sonehso:wa at last has to touch his wife's elbow after the bell is rung for boarding. The women share one last tearful embrace before Anika walks with the men up the ramp to the ship that will take them inland. It pulls away from the dock and Connor and Catherine are left standing with a few other people on the edge of the water waving farewell to the passengers.

They walk quietly back to the _Aquila_ and only after much cajoling is Catherine convinced to join Connor, Falkner the New York and Boston Assassins and most of the crew at a nearby tavern for drinks. It's a lively place, filled with music and laughter. Though Catherine misses Anika terribly, she takes comfort knowing that her sister will be joining up with her large family in only a matter of days. How she misses the peace of the village and a much simpler life! Her own path lies beyond the horizon so she needs to bravely face it and transform it into the peace she seeks instead of always looking behind at what she simply cannot have. The concept is both exhilarating and frightening. Catherine can no longer be the woman she was less than one year ago and she remains quiet and introspective even as she and Connor walk back to the pier and board the _Aquila_ with a much smaller group.

A three day sail takes the remaining Assassins and crew to Boston. They stay long enough for Clipper, Duncan and Stephane to be rowed ashore and the dinghy to return before hauling up the anchor for the last time. A different sense of expectation builds in Catherine. She is finally sailing toward her new, yet very real future, and it's only two short days away from realization. For so long, her world had been constricted down to the dimensions of the _Aquila_ and the thought of leaving the safe confines of it's billowing sails, creaking wood and gentle sway upon the water makes her restless. The ship had become a comfortably safe place that she knows every inch of; the number of steps to walk from bow to stern, port to starboard and the number of stairs between each level are all sensible patterns to her now that she can rely on. The sounds of the ship, alive from the sea and wind, speak to her in a voice that has become familiar and reassuring. Where they are sailing to is none of those things. It's all hidden in a fog of uncertainty. Connor assures her that she will like it in Davenport, that the people will fall in love with her quickly, but though she trusts in his promises she fears the transition nonetheless. So Catherine spends her time pacing, leaning out over the railings with a hand on one of the ropes for support or sitting in the prow of the ship, feeling the cool wind and splash of the northern seas blowing on her skin. Her thoughts are turned inward and she once again finds herself teetering on the edge of her negative consciousness.

Connor doesn't fail to notice and suspects her melancholy stems from more than just her recent farewells to her sister. Even he is affected by the leaving of Sonehso:wa and Anika as well as all of his Assassin brothers despite knowing he'll be seeing many of them in the near future. Catherine seems unwilling to speak of any of it and he doesn't push the subject matter, knowing he has no right to when he himself struggles to talk about what makes him ache in his heart. He fervently hopes there will be enough to keep her mind and hands busy when they reach their destination, which has become so close he can almost touch it now. It both calls impatiently and repels him.

Evergreens, cut by the stark white verticality of birch, are dense along the coast north of Boston. A few small homesteads and cabins occasionally dot the shore or reveal themselves from between the trunks but for the most part, the _Aquila_ travels alongside wild country. It's a rocky shore that Connor and his diminished company eventually hug and cliffs rise up along the narrow strip of sand beside the water. Waves crash over old tree trunks that have fallen from the cliff above and roll over the pebbly sand to explode upward onto the rock face in a spew of white foam and slate green sea. Seagulls and cormorants swoop overhead or bob on the surface of the water, diving down to snatch a shellfish and rise high over head, letting it fall onto the rocks below before returning to the ground to consume their newly exposed meal.

The crew is light hearted and their shouts of excitement at coming home to their long missed families and friends are lively and joyous. Even Faulkner, the man seemingly born with his feet on the deck of a ship and his face toward the distant horizon, appears ready to step off of his floating empire and embrace some solid ground and rest. Connor is again at the wheel, as he always is when sailing into a port of his travels, and though he exposes no obvious signs, the set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders reveal a certain disquiet in him. Catherine isn't able to determine if it is unease, impatience or a general sense of expectation that has him so rigid and stoic.

Connor gives the order to slow to half sail and Catherine strains to see why. Only more jagged, uninhabited shore spreads off ahead until an inlet abruptly opens into the coastline and reveals a few small, weathered shacks near the water's edge where the cliffs have tapered down to nothing. A dock protrudes out from the sandy shore. As the _Aquila_ turns further into the inlet Catherine's eyes follow the cliff edge as it rises. Where it levels off, high above the water and set partially back from the edge, is a massive, two story brick and mortar manor house with glass windows, several dormers and four chimneys. Its regal presence among the towering trees overlooking the harbor is impressive and Catherine descends the stairs from the stern deck to grasp the port railing with one hand and shade her eyes with the other. To her surprise, Connor leaves the wheel and joins her, moving close to her left side.

"Is that the manor you spoke of?" Catherine asks him with some awe in her voice, looking up at him as he stares off toward it with a faraway look.

"It is. It has been over a year since I last spent any time inside those walls. I cannot vouch for its condition now but any necessary repairs can be made quickly." His eyes stay on the stately structure on the cliff and Catherine follows his gaze to it once again.

"All that I see from here is just… beautiful. What a lovely place; it's so peaceful!"

"I hope it remains so in your perception when we are upon the threshold." Catherine turns her attention to Connor and touches his right elbow with her left hand.

"Your reminiscences trouble you." Connor continues to stare ahead for a moment longer before nodding slowly and lowering his golden eyes, lit brightly by the noonday sunshine, down to Catherine. Still he remains silent and his painful past shows itself for just a moment behind the neutral expression he holds over his features. Catherine's heart breaks for him and the complexities he'll contend with in the coming days.

"We'll build more memories together. You won't have to face anything alone again." At her words, the mask falls away from Connor's features and he looks lovingly upon her through his grief. Catherine slides her hand down to his and he envelops it in his grip. Turning his wrist so both of their hands are palm up, he touches the gold band on her fourth finger with his thumb.

"It is difficult to think on my many experiences here. The Old Man was… dear to me. He has been gone for years yet I am continuously plagued by him. Up there is where I feel his influence most keenly." Connor shakes his head after glancing up at the nearing cliff. Catherine raises her right hand and presses it onto his chest over his heart. She looks into Connor's tortured eyes and speaks softly to him.

"He's in here. That's the way of it when someone you love dearly passes away. You can't see them or talk to them but they'll always be in here, reminding you of their love in the only way they can. That's why it hurts so much." Catherine moves closer and slides her right hand up to Connor's shoulder. He sighs under her touch and takes his left hand from the railing to rest it on Catherine's waist. She gives him an encouraging smile.

"You're carrying on his legacy by coming back. Isn't that what he would have wanted of his son?"

"It is." Catherine rests her chin on Connor's chest and then turns her head to look over at the cliffs again. Three teenaged boys and one much younger boy have gathered at the edge of it and they wave their caps and shout towards the ship. Together they break into a run and head toward the slope, disappearing among the trees and reappearing farther down.

"Do you know those children?"

"The three older ones are Godfrey and Catherine's and Terry and Diana's sons, Carson, Angus and Douglas. The little one is Prudence and Warren's son, Hunter." Catherine leans her head against Connor and tightens her hand in his. Only when the order has been given to tie down the sails completely do they separate from their embrace.

"I should gather our things." Connor holds onto her hand as Catherine takes a step toward the cabin.

"Later. They will keep." They stand hand in hand as the ship slows and smoothly drifts in to the side of the dock. When it is close enough, two sailors jump across the gap and catch the ropes thrown to them to secure to the pilings.

The four boys are on the dock excitedly capering and it seems that word has already spread that the _Aquila_ has returned, for a woman is walking down toward the harbor from the hilly upper area. The moment the boys catch sight of Connor, an excited outburst comes from them.

"Master Connor! Master Connor's back!" They almost knock one of the sailors into the water as they are securing the gangplank in their haste to reach the ship. The woman walking picks up her pace when she hears the boys' shouts. Within moments the boys are on the ship.

"Master Connor! Have you been on adventures? Who's the lady? Are you staying long?" Connor makes a settling motion with his hands.

"Slow down. One at a time."

"Are you staying?" The older boys ask all the questions while the small, dark skinned boy hangs back and his eyes, as black as coal chips, are enormous as he takes in everything.

"Yes, I am staying this time. This is Catherine Parry. She is from New York."

The tallest and oldest boy holds out his hand to Catherine and she extends hers toward him. With a flourish, he takes it and bows gentlemanly from the waist, kissing her fingers and making her smile at his antics.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am. I'm Douglas. Carson is my cousin and this here is Angus, my brother." He looks around and catches sight of the youngest boy where he looks on from behind him. Douglas ushers him forward.

"This is Hunter. He's a little bashful."  
"I'm pleased to meet all of you fine young men." Catherine crouches down and beckons to Hunter. He steps forward towards her.

"Hello, Hunter. I'm Cat."

"Can you make Master Connor stay? He always leaves!" Catherine smiles at his sweet innocence.

"He will stay to do his work in Davenport and because I'll be happy here." The boy considers her words and then reaches his arms around her neck to hug her.

"I hope you're _always_ happy here so Master Connor will stay _forever_."

"Oh…" Catherine is taken by the love the child has for Connor. She moves him back and touches his round cheek.

"I hope so too." The moment is interrupted by the sounds of rapid footsteps on the dock. A pretty woman with her light hair gathered under a white cap is approaching. She waves to Connor and then calls out to the boys with a heavy Scottish accent.

"Welcome back, Connor! Boys! Carson! Run an' tell everyone tha' Connor's back! Make sure ya' stop at the Mile's End t' tell Corrine the news!" Catherine stands up from her interaction with Hunter when he runs after Carson. The woman's eyes open wide. She places a hand over her chest in shock.

"Oh! My, my! A lady companion!" She hurries over and looks between Catherine and Connor. Connor surprises Catherine with his next words.

"Perhaps we should all go to the inn. Diana, this is Catherine."

"Lovely t' meet ya Catherine!"

"And you. Please, call me Cat." Diana eyes the two of them but Connor offers her nothing further.

As they walk up the hill toward the village, with the boys quickly disappearing ahead of them, Diana makes small talk with Catherine and Connor, though she continues to send questioning glances toward Connor from time to time.

"So, Catherine… Cat. Welcome t' Davenport. Will ya' be stayin' long?"

"I should think so, yes." Catherine says with a smile, doing her best not to look over at Connor as she says it and playing along with his mysterious behavior. Diana notices her wedding ring and Connor's lack of one but doesn't asked anything specific.

They pass by the massive manor house and continue along the quiet dirt road, with Diana pointing out the homes and disclosing who lives in each one for Catherine's sake until they arrive at the inn.

 **"** 'Ere we are! Corrine will be able t' find ya' a nice room, Cat. I've got more work t' do with Dr. White so I can't join ya' just yet. I'll be back in a bit, though. Glad yer back, Connor! I'm sure this place'll be packed in no time with everyone wantin' t' see ya 'n all!" The door opens and the plump innkeeper herself comes out as Diana leaves them.

"There you are! The boys just told me you were on you way. It's been too long! Come in, come in! You're just in time for lunch!" She turns to Catherine and takes in her hide clothing without even a pause.

"Welcome to the Mile's End, dearie! Come in! I'll get you both some ale!" She looks between them and smiles but only encounters Connor's impassive expression.

Inside, Corrine gestures to an unoccupied table. Connor takes off his hat and sets it on the table as he sits beside Catherine. Corrine bustles through a door into the back of the inn and a tall, heavyset man raises his hand in greeting to Connor with a wide grin as he polishes a glass in his hand. Connor nods in response. Only two other patrons are in the establishment and they barely glance over at them. Connor leans slightly closer to Catherine and speaks softly.

"My unwed state has been a frequent topic of discussion among the people of this place for years. Prepare yourself. There will more than likely be a… commotion… when we announce our marriage."

"Is that why you're being so secretive? I was beginning to wonder if you were ashamed of me!" Her joke falls flat.

"That is not so! I only wish to say it once. I do not like being the center of attention." Catherine smiles at him and stifles a small laugh with her hand.

"I'm sure it'll be unavoidable for quite a while, more than likely. Everyone will be happy for you. Why shouldn't they celebrate on your behalf? Just enjoy it." Connor's lips form a tight line and he sits back in his chair, obviously unhappy about the upcoming task of making such a momentous announcement. Corrine reappears with two enormous tankards of ale in her hands.

"Here you go! Can I get you anything else?" Connor shakes his head.

"No. Thank you."

"I saw a few folks heading this way. It's sure to be quite a gathering before long." Corrine smiles at Catherine.

"Everyone is always excited when Connor comes to visit. What's your name, dearie?"

"Catherine."

"Oh, we've got another Catherine in town. I'm sure you'll meet her soon! Word travels fast in Davenport. Where are you coming from?"

"New York… I suppose. I've been travelling much, of late."

"Well, you're lucky indeed to have come into town with one of our own. Connor's a true gentleman- one of a kind, that's for sure! Will you be staying long? I've got a few rooms open at the moment. You'll have your pick of them if you'd like me to show you later."

"Thank you… Corrine, is it?" The woman nods.

"Connor has arranged for my accommodations already but your offer is most generous."

"Oliver and I run the only inn in town… Do you have family here? You look a mite like Myriam with that dark hair and your clothing. Or perhaps that nice young family who moved here a few months back…" Corrine wrings her hands with concern. The inn door bangs open and stalls any further questions from her. She reluctantly steps aside as two men who are clearly brothers jostle their way loudly into the common room and approach the table ahead of a tall, burly looking man wearing a heavy leather blacksmith's apron over his clothes.

A flurry of introductions occurs and Catherine meets Godfrey, Terry and Dave. Only a moment later, Hunter leads his mother, Prudence, in by the hand. Within only a few more minutes, Prudence's husband, Warren joins them and then the other Catherine and the three boys enter. Then inn is quite loud with conversation and the bustle of both Corrine and Oliver dispensing ale around the room. A few sailors from the _Aquila_ join the crowd and rent some of the rooms. A beautiful woman named Ellen and her equally lovely daughter show up as well as a lively couple. The wife, Myriam, who is indeed dressed similarly to Catherine in hide pants and a cotton shirt, carries a small, sleeping child in her arms.

The Father of the local church, Timothy, arrives along with Diana and the doctor she had mentioned earlier, Lyle, followed by a man named Lance, so covered in wood shavings and dust that Corrine makes him brush off outside before entering. It is then that Connor abruptly stands taller and raises his arm upwards to capture the attention of everyone present. The place quiets quickly. He looks down at Catherine and she steps closer beside him, feeling somewhat nervous despite the warmth and welcome of everyone present.

"You have all had a chance to meet Catherine…" a general murmur of agreement, friendly compliments and raised mugs of ale accompany Connor's words.

"She is my wife and we will be living in the manor from now on." Connor takes Catherine's hand and she looks up at him with a smile on her face. The room positively erupts with shouts and exclamations. Diana's voice rises clearly above the din.

"I _knew_ it! I jus' knew it!"

"Connor, you devil! Why didn't you just say so before?" Corrine cries. She seizes Catherine's free hand and squeezes it.

"My _dear_! Welcome to the family! Oh!" Suddenly choked up, she uses a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes. She excuses herself and dashes off. Her husband smiles broadly at them both and shouts over the milling crowd.

"This is a cause for celebration! A round of drinks is on the house!" The resulting cheer is almost deafening in the enclosed space. Catherine is greeted anew, only this time it is with hugs and kisses from the women and kind words of congratulations from the men. Connor is repeatedly slapped on the back, punched on the shoulder or accosted in various ways by the men. Myriam's husband Norris even takes him around his neck and gives him a one armed hug while slapping his chest with the other. Catherine catches Norris's words to him.

"She must be one _hell_ of a woman to have turned _your_ head, my friend." Connor responds in his usual soft spoken, minimalist way.

"Catherine is a good woman for me." While Catherine is elated by the joy demonstrated by everyone for their happiness, she understands why Connor had suggested preparing herself, though she surmises that the warning probably was more for steeling himself than for her. Despite being among friends, dear friends even, he is clearly holding himself in a reserved, overly formal fashion. No one seems to feel it's amiss, though, and her attention is diverted away from him as more people arrive and are introduced.

The noon time lunch break becomes the end of the work day for nearly everyone in light of the celebratory nature of Connor's homecoming and two significant announcements. Faulkner wades into the crowded inn, accompanied by more welcoming shouts and toasts. He gruffly acknowledges them all until a mug of ale is in his hands and he settles into his routine of shouting good natured insults around, with many of them directed at the sailors present.

Once things settle down a bit, the question Catherine had been dreading is asked. The shorter of the two Scottish brothers, Terry, asks it.

"So Connor, 'ow'd ya' two meet?"

Catherine and Connor had discussed this eventuality and had agreed that the less information given, the better.

"Catherine had been robbed. I helped her find the men responsible and it turned out that she had information that was valuable to me. We worked together for some time and a mutual affection came of it."

"Mutual affection! I should say so!" the younger of the two men quips.

"You're lucky he was there, Catherine! Where did it happen?" Ellen asks with a look of shock on her face.

"Just outside New York."

"Oh? My daughter and I used to live in New York. It has a dark underbelly at times and I'm so very happy to have left there. I'm certain you'll be glad of it as well after such an experience." Catherine smiles at her.

"I am!"

"Wait… you said your last name is Parry. Do you carry any relation to Mr. Parry, of Parry Textiles? I used to get many of my bolts from him when I lived there. Now I get my stock from Boston." Catherine inhales and hesitates until Connor's hand touches her side reassuringly. She glances at him and he nods almost imperceptibly. He trusts these people and so Catherine follows his lead.

"Yes, Ellen. He was my father. He's since passed away and the business has changed hands twice. It now belongs to Mr. Somers, his greatest rival, I'm afraid."

"Mr. Somers! Oh, that _is_ a shame! I always preferred dealing with your father's people. Mr. Somers was always very unwilling to negotiate his prices. I should think the business would have gone to you. I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

"Thank you. You're quite right, though. It was one of the things that had been stolen from me but by the time Connor and I learned the details of the transaction it was too late to get it back. Mr. Somers isn't to blame for it. He bought it legally and the monies from the sale were spent before they could be recovered. But I don't lament the loss. I'm grateful for my life and what I have now." Ellen gives her an odd look but doesn't pursue the subject. Catherine has a feeling the conversation isn't over. Oddly enough, she doesn't fear continuing it with her. Instead, she feels a form of camaraderie with the woman somehow.

A few of the women leave shortly after everyone has eaten a light noon meal, taking the children with them, but not before bestowing more hugs and kisses upon Catherine and soft touches to Connor's arm with kind words of congratulations for them both. Corrine follows two of the women to the door with a large, covered basket and hands it off to them as they leave. She smiles sweetly at Catherine and steals another hug from her.

"We're all so happy for you both! You're going to love living here. Davenport is a special place."

As the afternoon progresses, more sailors arrive from the _Aquila_ and Corrine and Oliver become busy tending to their thirsty needs. A few people begin to play some of their instruments and the noise level increases further inside the enclosed space. Catherine leans back in her chair and looks out one of the opened windows. Connor angles his body toward her and almost has to shout to be heard by her.

"We should go get settled at the manor." Catherine nods and they stand together. Corrine attempts to convince them to stay a little longer but Connor resolutely shakes his head.

"There will be much to do at the manor and we need the daylight to do it. You have been most generous."

"Of course, my dears! We're happy to have you any time." She reaches out to stroke Catherine's cheek sweetly with a kind smile before hurrying off to attend to her many guests.

Outside, Catherine breathes a sigh of relief as they begin to walk slowly toward the manor.

"It was getting so loud. I've been spoiled by the open air of the sea! It has a way of taking our noise and casting it out over the waves." She takes Connor's right arm and briefly rests her head against his shoulder.

"But that wasn't so bad, was it? Everyone was so _happy_ for you! And even though they didn't know a thing about me they welcomed me as if I had been one of their own for ages. Oh, they love you so!"

"I have known many of them since I was less than twenty summers."

"Why didn't you tell me they're like family to you?" Connor is quiet for some time before answering.

"Because I am not a man with family." Catherine stops and Connor stops with her. The manor is within sight of their travels, a small dip in the road the only stretch remaining between them and the front door. Connor faces his body towards Catherine and holds her hand but his troubled, amber gaze remains fixed on the manor. The pain in his expression is so sharp Catherine feels it stabbing into her own heart.

"I'm your family now." He turns his head to look at her. Catherine almost looks away because his expression exposes such wretched torment in his heart that she barely manages to keep her eyes fixed on his. She takes his other hand in hers and squeezes them both tightly before tilting her head back toward the inn and the town center.

"And they're your family. And everyone at the village is your family. Why do you distance your heart from them?"

"I chose to leave the village to pursue the life of an Assassin. By doing so I cast aside all of my family and I have paid the price for it. They are no longer part of me as they had been when I was a boy. I have also left the life I had here. I stopped giving the people here the protection they deserve after Achilles died and so I cannot explain their love for me." Connor's words are heartbreaking and Catherine feels tears welling up in her eyes. Her words are bitter with sorrow when she responds.

"You're a humble man, Ratonhnhake:ton. So humble you can't accept genuine love when it's offered freely by ones who are motivated by kindness. So humble you can't accept the love of your own people! You've welcomed my love! Why not theirs?"

"I do not deserve it. I failed my people and I left Davenport." Catherine shakes her head and lets her tears fall for Connor's self loathing. She raises Connor's hand to her face and he strokes the shining trail her tears left on her cheek with his thumb.

"But you're here now. And what happened to your village wasn't your fault. You fought for them."

"I failed."

"You were betrayed! That's not failure and I won't ever be convinced otherwise."

"Your words are slanted by your love for me." Connor moves his hand from Catherine's cheek to her shoulder and then slides it down her arm to her hand as she replies.

"That may be so but they're also the truth by your own admission. How can you tell me to let go of the past when you won't do the same?" Connor heaves a long sigh through his nose with his teeth clenched and his head turned toward the manor. Catherine tightens her grip on his hands until he looks at her.

"This is an opportunity to start over. Whether the people here believe it's warranted or not, this is _your_ chance to right any wrongs you feel you've done to them. And it has to all start by walking through that door." Catherine raises the linked fingers of their hands and gestures toward the manor with them, extending her index finger out from his grasp. She tugs on his hands and they begin to walk again, settling for being side by side once more, but Catherine retains her tight grip on Connor's right hand.

Prudence, Godfrey's wife Catherine and Ellen's daughter Maria exit the manor as they approach the front of it. Maria steps forward and offers up an explanation to them.

"We were just freshening up the place for you. You'll be wanting this back now, I suppose." She holds out the large skeleton key to the manor on the end of a long loop of red ribbon and Connor extends his left hand. Maria lowers it into his palm and the three women take their leave with broad smiles on their faces.

"I left one of the keys to the manor with them a long time ago. It is yours now." Connor opens his hand and offers it to her. Catherine takes up the heavy key and examines it briefly before hanging it around her neck.

"Shall we go in?" she asks him. He nods once and touches a deep gash on the white column beside the steps with the fingers of his right hand. Catherine takes his hand from it and he reaches for the handle with his left.

A wide staircase with a railing that curves out at the bottom and a long corridor beside it are the first things Catherine sees as the door opens. The floors shine dully, clean and dark yet showing the evidence of much use over the years. What appears to be a bedroom is off to the right, decorated with a mounted bear head, thick green curtains and a large, painted portrait of an African family on the wall. The wide opening leading into a kitchen to the left reveals pots hanging on the walls, a wide, unlit fireplace for cooking, shelves for storage and a long, heavily used table down the center of the spacious room. The place smells faintly of dust and age, ancient oak and stone but a breeze blows easily through the place from the open windows visible in the bedroom beside them and at the top of the stairs. The wind ruffles the curtains and sends motes of dust swirling through the broadly slanting rays of sunshine beaming onto the floor from the tall, many paned windows. A small vase of flowers sits on the narrow credenza against the corridor wall and Catherine smiles at its womanly touch, no doubt set there by the women.

Connor walks slowly into the manor with Catherine behind him. On the table in the kitchen are two bowls. One is filled with summer peaches, plums and cherries and the other contains some freshly harvested tomatoes, a variety of squash, beans, and fresh kitchen herbs. A loaf of hearty peasant bread sits on a board with a tureen of pale butter nearby. The shelf on the far wall has a small basket of speckled eggs and a pitcher of cream. Connor gestures to the spread on the table.

"It seems Corrine has ensured we will not go hungry."

"That's very kind of her." Connor nods at Catherine's words and stands in the corridor looking slowly around. Catherine steps up to him and takes his hands again. The darkness in his eyes lurks persistently and she wishes she could reach inside of him and wrest it out of his heart. Knowing him, he would fight her to keep it so she merely smiles at him and walks backwards toward the staircase, holding onto his hands with confidence.

"Show me my new home, Ratonhnhake:ton. Let me know it from your memories. Tell me its stories and help me make it mine."

"Then perhaps you should see the basement first." Connor takes a step toward the back of the staircase and reaches to one of the candle sconces mounted on the wall. When he pulls on it, it tips forward on a hinge and a hidden door cracks open, its edges disguised by the clever trim work of the wainscoting covering the walls. Catherine breathes out in wonderment and follows Connor as he squares his shoulders and descends the creaky steps down into the shadowy basement.

It's dim in the area, lit only by the light that comes in from the opened door, but Connor takes a dusty lantern down from an alcove and carries it to a nearby table. He reaches to a drawer and almost without looking, produces a flint, which he quickly uses to light a nearby candle. When the flame is glowing brightly, he lifts the glass shade from the lantern, blows on it to clear off a thick layer of collected dust, and lights the wick beneath with the candle. Catherine watches his movements, taking in every detail as he goes about the familiar task but her attention is diverted from him as the light of two flames illuminates the area in front of him. Writing has been scrawled on the wall before him, names and notes surrounding seven rectangles of blank space that appear darker than the surrounding plaster. Some of the handwriting is in Connor's distinctive script in both English and Kanien'keha and some of it was clearly written by someone else. It is partially faded but what is there is still legible. She takes a step toward him and looks up at all of it. Her eyes fall on the writing at the top next to one of the blank spaces and her heart constricts.

_Haytham_

_-grandmaster_

Connor begins to speak as Catherine rests her hands on the surface of the table beside him.

"I have stood in this very place for what seems like the equivalent of a lifetime, staring up at this wall and what was on it. There were paintings here of the Templar Order in this land. Every man is dead now, for good or bad. Sometimes I doubted whether anything I did was worth it and other times I rejoiced in my success, but all of it has brought me back here. I suppose I would have ended up here eventually, Mentor to my Brothers. I have merely reached this point sooner because of you and that is not a bad thing. Every step I took formed me into the leader I must now be to my men, to all Assassins in this land. I do not bear the burden lightly for it is an everlasting and heavy responsibility." Connor looks down at the table and the lantern before him. Catherine reads the names of each of the men whose pictures had adorned the wall for probably a decade, maybe longer. She had seen some of their names in the papers during the war and she is again struck by the level of involvement Connor had had in all of it. His headlong battle on two fronts, both of defending the Assassin hold on the land and that of his people, had shaped him into the man she has grown to love, a man of many layers: determination, strength, dedication, and bullheaded stubbornness. But he is also made of compassion, astoundingly deep love and a faith in humanity that defies all expectations for a man who could so easily have lost it long ago.

The basement holds a training area where Connor must have spent countless hours transforming into the fighter he is now. Catherine can almost see him, coached by an ancient man crippled by gout and hunched by age and loss, learning to fight until he must have been ready to collapse but never letting himself be defeated. For most of his life he has been trained to think and use restraint in all matters, never showing weakness or a crack for the enemy to take hold of. But to Catherine, his perceived weaknesses are what draws her to him, what makes her want to climb inside of him, hold him together and give him something he can use to warm his heart and mind when the world around him remains cold and unforgiving.

Connor seems to awaken when Catherine lays her hand on his arm. He breathes deeply and almost smiles at her.

"Together. We will do this together, as you said." Catherine does smile at his words and nods her head at him. Taking up the lantern and blowing out the candle he had used to light it, Connor leads her around the basement and away from the wall of his past, showing her the training area, the wooden practice weapons he used and where his collection of clothing had once been kept. His narrative takes them up onto the first floor where he tells her about the many secrets the manor has held, the people who have come through its doors and the events that had been hosted by Achilles. Catherine notices that he stays clear of the downstairs bedroom, only mentioning that it was where Achilles slept, restricted as he was by his physical limitations.

The last room they find themselves in front of after having toured the upstairs is Connor's and he pauses outside of it. Their things from the _Aquila_ had been delivered to the manor and the women had carried them upstairs, setting their bows and quivers in the display room and their clothing items on the bed in Connor's room. The light had begun to fade as evening gathered in while Connor was showing Catherine around. He seems reluctant to enter the room so she takes the lantern from him and steps into it. With the lantern held high, she takes in the many pieces of Connor's village he had decorated with and smiles at the tewa'a:raton stick leaning against a desk, a fragment of his youth he had left behind yet never forgotten. Another small vase of flowers sits on a dresser, filling the room with the subtle fragrance of summer roses and Catherine goes to it next, looking at the jewelry pieces and items from the village that are scattered over the dresser's surface. At the sight of them, she misses Anika and the people there anew and she sighs as she places the lantern down and picks up a carved wooden bowl to run her fingers over it. She remembers the kindness of the people of her Bear Clan and the many new experiences she had partaken of while there. Placing the bowl back down, she turns to face Connor where he had wandered over to the opposite side of the room next to a woven wall hanging similar to the ones she had seen on the dividers inside the longhouses at the village.

"I miss them all, Ratonhnhake:ton." Connor crosses the room quickly at her sad tone to join her.

"As do I." he says comfortingly.

"Is it why you kept these things so close to you when you slept here? Nowhere else in this house has anything from Kanatahseton." Connor makes a quiet noise of consideration in his chest.

"Perhaps. I had not given it much thought." They smile at each other in mutual understanding before Connor takes up the lantern and they make their way downstairs.

After eating a light dinner of the things they had been provided with by Corrine and unpacking their few belongings from the ship, they ready themselves for their first night together in the rambling manor house. The creaking sounds of it settling are unfamiliar to Catherine but the idea of having it all to share with Connor fills her to overflowing with happiness and a hopeful sentiment in her chest that makes her imagine she could float into the air and drift out through the opened window she stands at. She leans on the sill and peers out into the deep violet and blue night of New England summer, so different from the eternal warmth and humidity of the Caribbean they left behind just one month ago. Though just as mild as the southern climate now, the feel of it is singular, hinting at ice and snow that isn't far off from blanketing the region, bringing both death and renewal to a land that has been built on extremes since the beginning of time. Even the moon appears different where it sits, casting its silvery light down on the world from its stately, dependable face. The night breezes flow through the room, washed by moonbeams, ruffling both the curtains and Catherine's cotton shift and moving a stray hair against her face that had escaped her braid. Balmy and refreshing, it passes over her skin as lightly as a lover's touch. It brings with it the sounds of leafy branches in the trees and the soft boil of the surf in the harbor below along with the sweet scents of pine, greenery and salty low tide.

"Are you coming to bed or are you going to spend the night staring out that window?" Connor asks her from where he sits, reclining against the headboard of the bed. Catherine turns and stands up from leaning on the sill. He has his ankles crossed and his hands are folded comfortably over his stomach. She pads barefoot across the room to her side of the bed and climbs in next to him.

"I could probably stare for hours. The view is just lovely! Everything is so incredibly peaceful and more like home than any other place we've been to since leaving the village." They lie on their sides facing each other in the room lit by the light of the moon. Connor's eyes roam over Catherine's face, darting incrementally from side to side as he looks into her hers and then down at her mouth until Catherine can't help but smile at him.

"What is it?" she asks him.

"You are a beautiful, compassionate woman, WildCat, and you look upon this world with enthusiasm and a brightness that I could not see before you showed me. It is because of you that I have gained the courage to step into this place once again and face the things I have dreaded." His voice seems to carry a hint of wonder. Catherine smiles at his compliment, touches her palm to his elbow and traces her fingertips lightly up his arm and onto his neck, prompting him to take her wrist in his hand, raise it up and kiss the inside of it softly, just as he had so long ago when she was a frightened, defeated woman.

"I want to fill this house with only what you love so you never dread crossing the threshold ever again," she murmurs. Connor's eyes pierce the space between them with an intensity that makes her heart beat faster.

"We will." Connor retains his hold on her wrist as he shifts onto his back, drawing her with him so she can rest her head on his shoulder and settle her body against his. He lifts her hand up to his face and kisses it again, resting it down on his chest over his heart and watching her until she closes her eyes.


	26. Mentor

Catherine wakes on the last morning of August to a very distinct feeling of nausea that brings back memories of her time in the cabin with Connor. After her courses hadn't come when they were supposed to, she had been too afraid to assume it was anything other than a fluke but now she's certain. Instead of sickening fear in her heart, a lightness fills her at the thought of being pregnant with Connor's child: a life created by deep love and willing coupling. Connor stirs in the darkness beside her and Catherine lies still as she waits for the mild nausea to pass. The only anxiety that fills her is of losing this baby as she had her last. What a strange reversal of emotions! She snuggles closer to Connor and he sleepily rolls onto his side and wraps his arms around her.

Later in the day while Connor is busy, Catherine walks out into the village and pays a visit to Dr. White.

"I trust you know your body better than I at this point. It's far too early for me to be able to determine whether you're pregnant or not." Catherine nods and twirls a curl over her finger.

"It's just that… I was…" Her voice quivers and she looks up at Dr. White with concern. He waits patiently in the chair opposite his large desk from her.

"You see, before Connor found me I had been imprisoned someplace outside of the city… I was… used badly against my will, by men who wished only to hurt me. I wonder if I'm unable… now…" She closes her eyes and shakes her head slightly, trying desperately to keep her lip from quivering in shame and her tears of humiliation from falling because of her confession. Dr. White's warm hand on hers makes her look at him again. He speaks kindly to her.

"You wouldn't be the first woman I've seen who has been raped, Catherine. It's a sadly common occurrence in some districts of Boston where I came from. However, that having happened wouldn't necessarily impede a pregnancy, just as the willing form of such an act wouldn't encourage it."

"But I had become with child from… before. And I lost it after two months. Will I lose this one as well?"

"I can't guarantee you won't, unfortunately. Pregnancy can be a tricky thing, affected by factors that are both certain and uncertain."

"What's certain?"

"Your general health, good spirits. Does anything ail you at the moment?"

"Not that I know of. Just the nausea, which I had before."

"Was anything different with your health at the time of your first pregnancy?"

"Yes, I should say so! Before my husband, well, he wasn't my husband then… Before he took me from that place, I'd been nearly starved to death and I was grievously injured. Without his help I would surely have died! Later, though, when I realized my condition I became very distraught… I didn't want it and I… attempted to end my life. Connor stopped me. When I at last accepted my fate and tried to be happy, I lost the baby." Catherine heaves an emotional sigh and grasps the doctor's hand.

"But I truly want this one! What if I can't bear _any_ children now because of what was done to me?"

"The very fact that you believe yourself to be pregnant now is a good sign that you're capable of having children. From the sound of it, you were tremendously unwell at the time when you lost your pregnancy. Today, you appear very healthy to me- sound of mind and body. There's no reason to believe you're doomed to lose every pregnancy based on one very extreme experience." Dr. White squeezes Catherine's hand and then releases it, sits back in his chair and pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. Catherine nods and clasps her hands on her lap, taking up a curl to roll in her fingers once again.

"If you're still unconvinced, I'll perform a physical exam on you to rule out any malformation of your body but I honestly don't believe it will yield anything further than what we know already."

"I suppose not." Catherine hangs her head.

"Chin up, Catherine. I've seen women try for years before successfully carrying a child to term. Don't count on failure before anything has even really begun. The only advice I'll give is this: If your nausea becomes unbearable, try smoking a pipe or drinking some wine to help stave it off. Don't mope about thinking on the worst. Stay active, but don't do anything excessive. Leave the lifting of anything overly heavy to your husband. Live life. Alright?" Catherine gives him a small smile.

"Thank you, doctor. I'll keep what you've said in mind."

"If anything truly out of sorts occurs, sharp pains or excessive illness, come see me immediately."

"I will." The doctor sees her to the door and watches as she walks down the road toward the manor.

Along the way, Catherine mulls over her conversation with Dr. White. How can he recommend for her not to worry about a very real possibility? Perhaps it would be best for Connor to know sooner. Maybe he can help her think positively on all of this. He may be overly serious or prone to some pessimism at times; it's part of his personality and is amplified by such an occupation as his but if he was willing to raise a child not of his own making, how much more so would he be for his own progeny?

Connor is deep in conversation with an Assassin who had arrived in her absence when Catherine reaches the manor. He is a much shorter man than her husband but he has a very serious face. Perhaps a few years older than Connor, his dark blond hair is held in a neat, looped under pony tail at the back of his head with a generous amount of grey at his temples. Somewhat disappointed that her news will have to wait, Catherine steadies her resolve and enters the downstairs room where Connor is talking with the man in front of a large map spread out over the bed. The two men turn to face her when she walks in.

"Catherine, this is Michael Founder, one of my Brothers from Quebec. Michael, this is my wife, Catherine." Connor gestures toward the visitor, who bows politely.

"I'm so pleased to meet you. Connor speaks highly of your skill in archery." His voice is surprisingly deep and carries a strong French accent.

"Does he? He flatters me! And I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"I believe I may. Thank you. I've got a room at the inn up the road but I've never much liked crowded places." Catherine laughs and nods her head.

"It gets a bit rowdy for my taste as well." Catherine and Connor share a glance and a small, knowing smile that Michael doesn't miss.

"I see I've made the better choice, then." He says with a grin.

"I'll leave you men to work. Dinner will be ready around six o'clock."

"I look forward to it." Catherine looks at her husband and he gives her a small nod of acknowledgement. His stance and formality give nothing away but his eyes sparkle at her in the way that never fails to warm her heart. Once her back is turned, a smile covers her face, both for her secret and the way she and Connor can communicate without a single word spoken between them. His eyes had told her many things: love, gratitude and pride. A subtle longing to kiss her had crept through as well.

Michael doesn't stay long after dinner. He had travelled far to reach Davenport and wants to get an early start in the morning on the mission Connor had discussed in depth with him. Upstairs, Connor is taken by surprise when Catherine approaches him in the bedroom as he is taking off his belt and jacket. She holds her bow and quiver in her hands and offers them to him. He places his jacket on the bed beside his belt and takes them from her, utterly confused.

"Will you put them away in a safe place for me?"

"They are yours to use when you wish. I thought we might go hunting together in a few days." Connor extends them toward her in an effort to return them but Catherine lightly touches his hands with hers and moves them back.

"I know… but it's too risky now. The last time I shot an arrow when I was with child, I lost the baby." Connor stares at her and his eyes open wider the longer he looks into hers.

"You are pregnant." It isn't a question but Catherine nods and smiles up at him.

"Yes. You're to be a father by the end of next spring, if all goes well." Connor's mouth is slightly open and his eyebrows climb his forehead. At last he breathes out and lowers himself to his knees in front of her, placing her bow and quiver down on the floor on either side of his legs while staring fixedly at her abdomen. He raises his hands to her flat stomach and covers it with them, narrowing his eyes as if he could see inside. Glancing up at her, he smiles once and then runs his hands around to her back so he can pull her stomach against his face. He kisses it and looks up at her with wonder in his eyes as Catherine idly runs her fingers into his hair.

"You are not sick."

"I was a little this morning. I imagine it will worsen, as it did before. Dr. White said he has some remedies for it that I can try."

"Dr. White. When did you tell him?"

"Today." Catherine takes Connor's hands in hers to stand him back up.

"So. I wanted to tell you as soon as I got back but my busy husband made me wait until night time!" She smiles and swats his chest playfully. Connor's eyes reflect an unusual amount of embarrassment at her chastisement.

"I could have asked Michael to leave earlier." At his words, Catherine laughs merrily.

"Of course you couldn't have! He was our guest and you two had work to do. But I was just bursting with the secret all afternoon!"

"Your news brings me joy and…" Connor's voice trails off and he looks intently at her. It's obvious that he is searching for what he wants to say so Catherine waits patiently, watching the many subtle transformations occurring on his face that speak of his inner unrest.

"I am happy… yet also afraid." Catherine touches her hand to his cheek and he holds her wrist.

"I'm afraid of losing this one as well, more than a little, I admit. It was why I went to see the doctor today. But I'm much healthier now than I was the last time and I want this baby… your baby… with all my heart." Connor pulls her to him in a tight hug.

"As do I, WildCat. I will do my best to be a good father…" Catherine squeezes him back.

"You're a good man, an honorable man with excellent qualities. You'll be the best father any child could wish for! Just as you're the best husband _I_ could ever wish for." Connor exhales loudly and moves her back so he can look into her eyes. Catherine beams and stands on her toes to kiss him with her hands resting on his shoulders. A smile slowly grows on Connor's face. He scoops Catherine up into his arms as his smile turns to a grin that splits his face and makes his eyes crinkle deeply at the sides until he starts to laugh. The sound of it is a treasure of immeasurable worth. Catherine is caught up in his joy and laughs with him, clinging to his neck as he spins around in a circle once in the middle of the bedroom. Carefully, he stoops to set her feet gently on the floor as lightly as a feather.

"You have powers beyond my understanding, woman! A child is growing inside you!" He holds her arms supportively with his hands and looks down at her stomach with awe and incredulity.

"Yes, well, it happens all the time to women the world over, you know. I'm nothing special." Catherine laughs at the concept he seems to find so unbelievable.

"But… it is of _my_ spirit …" His face becomes far more serious and he looks keenly at Catherine.

"I understand now why you struggled to accept the one you lost. I am sorry I could not before." He raises his hand to his forehead with concern and Catherine is struck by his grief.

"There isn't anything for you to be sorry for. If it hadn't been lost, you would have raised it just the same as if it were truly yours, I know it." Connor's face is painted in doubt but Catherine shakes her head at him and insists further.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, please. It doesn't matter anymore because _this_ is what's real now." She takes his hand from his forehead and places it on her stomach. Her adamant tone replaces some of the anxiety in Connor's expression with wonder again and he moves his hand from her stomach to her side to draw her against his body in a lengthy hug.

"I will keep you and your baby safe here, WildCat." His words are augmented by his strong grip on her and the gravity in his voice.

"I know you will. But this baby is just as much yours as mine. That's one of the Kanien'keha:ka ways I'll never be able to conform my thinking to. This child will belong to _both_ of us. I won't have it any other way." She lifts her face from his shoulder to look up at him and he considers her words thoughtfully.

"Then it will be as you say." Catherine smiles as she cups the left side of his jaw with her hand and then moves his braid behind his ear. She rises onto her toes at the same moment that Connor lowers his head down to kiss her. They are taken by their passion and love and it translates to their kisses, converting them from the simplicity of affection into a complex, insatiable hunger. Only after they move onto the bed with Connor kneeling above her does he hesitate.

"Is it safe to do this?" His face reflects his worry for the sake of Catherine's state. She considers his question for a moment.

"It must be. Anika didn't stop just because she was with child. Why should we? I need it… I need _you_." Connor remains cautiously uncertain until Catherine pushes herself up to a sitting position and pulls her tunic over her head. His eyes fall to her exposed breasts and she takes his hand, placing it over one and whispering to him softly.

"It's alright. I'll tell you if it's ever not." He doesn't need further convincing but Catherine's breathy reactions as he lowers her back down with the gentle pressure of his kisses on her neck and shoulders greatly encourage and embolden him. She tries to undress him but he moves her hands from his buttons and places them on the pillow over her head, undoing them himself and continuing his attentions, permitting her only to caress his skin if she wishes or delve her fingers into his hair in enjoyment. Any time she becomes diverted by clothing items, Connor quickly removes the distraction and refocuses her on receiving his loving attentions. He breathes on her skin as he travels down her abdomen, not leaving a single place undiscovered.

Catherine moves with his touch, lifting her body to prolong each contact and sighing when it ends, only to experience it over again countless times as Connor worships her with his mouth and hands as if her body is his altar. He roves over the entirety of her until he returns at last to her mouth and kisses her with reverent adoration. Only when she is near to begging him does he reach down between their bodies, hot and slick with the heat of the summer evening and their passions, and search for her jewel with his fingers. He is rewarded with both Catherine's cry of pleasure and the roll of her hips into his hand when he finds it. He patiently works it until she is clutching at his shoulders and writhing beneath him.

The most blissful waves of sensation pour over Catherine under Connor's touch. He knows her body better than the maps in his cabin on the _Aquila_ and he expertly brings her to a powerful peak that leaves her weak and breathless afterward. Expecting him to enter her, to join her in mutual satisfaction, she is surprised when he moves to lie beside her and traces his fingers lazily over her skin the way he usually does when they have finished making love. Catherine catches his hand and looks at him with concern.

"You haven't yet taken _your_ pleasure."

"I have taken much pleasure." Catherine narrows her eyes at him and reaches down to stroke his erection with her fingertips. He breathes deeply at the contact.

"You haven't. Not the way you should. There's nothing to fear if we do it gently, I think." Catherine wriggles closer and crosses her leg over his hip, keeping her hand in contact with him until she is near enough to position him where he needs to be. Still he hesitates, watching her with his eyes dark and dilated, until she moves her hips against him. He closes his eyes for a moment and his lips part slightly at the sensation.

"You are sure?" Connor murmurs. Catherine runs her hand up his body and onto his neck, pulling him closer to kiss him softly in answer and whisper into his ear.

"Yes, my love." Taking her by her hips, Connor rolls Catherine onto her back and eases into her with his need only barely restrained. They watch each other as they move in tandem, enjoying every slow rhythm of their bodies until their shared pleasure becomes too great to maintain eye contact. Connor drops his face down onto the pillow beside Catherine's neck as he reaches his climax, unable to hold in his sounds of enjoyment. Her satisfaction comes right behind his and she clings to him until the last shuddering flux has faded, leaving her only able to lie there beneath him, breathing in the scent of their joined bodies and the perfume of the warm night. Connor lifts his face and trails kisses up Catherine's neck to her jaw, at last reaching her lips, swollen with their ardor, and softly anointing her with his love. He gives her a final kiss and then cradles her face in both of his hands. When Catherine opens her eyes he smiles at her. She is full of his love, full of him in every way, both in mind and in body. She whispers, running her fingers along the warm skin of his arms.

"May our love always be like this… just like this…"

"Why would it ever not be?" Connor asks, genuinely confused.

"I don't know… but I'm so happy now. Our lives, what we've created… I'm afraid I might wake up one day and it will all have just been a dream." Catherine closes her eyes and breathes out slowly as Connor strokes his thumbs on the sides of her face.

"You are not dreaming, WildCat."

xxxxx

It's a chilly, mid-October evening when Connor returns to the manor bearing several items in his arms, including a large hide and twine wrapped package with two letters stuffed under the twine. The wind howls outside and a few crisp, fallen leaves blow into the manor with him before he can shut the door with his foot. He deposits some correspondence and the smaller packages in Achilles' room on the massive new desk they had recently acquired from Lance. Catherine had begun rearranging the upstairs rooms and had chosen the one with the balcony for the nursery so Connor had moved Achilles' old bed there. Connor pulls his hood back as he enters the kitchen where Catherine is just taking two loaves of bread from the cooking stove next to the fireplace. He raises the bulky bundle under his arm.

"Some things came with the ship that arrived from New York today. One is for you."

"Oh? That's unexpected." Catherine carefully arranges the loaves to cool on the sideboard and places the cloths she used to protect her hands from the hot bread aside. She takes the bundle from Connor, along with their customary kiss whenever he comes home, and sets it on the kitchen table. Untucking the letters from beneath the binding, she looks at the neat handwriting in the corner and presses them to her chest with a gasp of happiness.

"They're from Anika!" Connor smiles at her joy and takes off his jacket as she excitedly opens the letter with the older date written on it first.

_Tuesday, August 23_ _rd_ _, 1785 Kanatahseton_

_My dearest sister,_

_I miss you so already. It was a long journey home but we arrived in the village just three days past. You and Ratonhnhake:ton should be here, our family, sitting across from us in the longhouse and sharing meals around the fire pit. But alas, it cannot be. Know that my heart is with you no matter where you rest your head and how far apart we are._

_But you must be wondering about our travels! Once we landed in Albany we stayed with the Young's for some time. Mr. Young insisted and Mrs. Young was most gracious and generous in her love and feeding of us. She was quite aflutter over my condition! She tried to give me more of her daughter's clothing from when she had been pregnant with little Ethan but I had to decline. They simply wouldn't fit over my bosom and even she could see it was futile!_

_Little Ethan has really begun to sprout up. I solemnly swear he's grown quite mightily in our short absence! He near worships Sonehso:wa and was heartbroken when we had to leave. That poor child! I do love him so and I couldn't give him enough kisses. I nearly asked if we could take him with us but it would be cruel to part him from his grandparents who love him with all their hearts._

_You'll be pleased to learn that dear Thomas the stable boy made it all the way to the Young's after you told him to find them! Did you know your husband gave him quite a fright back in New York? He thought himself dead when he was caught on the rooftop by him but then he followed Ratonhnhake:ton to the pier and watched him go to the_ Aquila _. He took control of Cloudy from where you left her and when you never returned and the ship raised sail he sold your side-saddle for provisions and rode all the way to Albany along the river! He's a smart, good boy, Cat, and Mrs. Young set him right to work caring for their horses and Cloudy. Mr. Young was very impressed with his obedience and willingness to earn his place. He said Thomas has "much potential" and wishes to send him to your husband at some point to learn the Creed. He references what Ratonhnhake:ton and his Brotherhood do. It isn't my place to argue that decision yet I fear for a young man entering into such a way of life. I understand he also plans on sending Ethan to him as well, when he comes of age. What more noble purpose could they fight for than liberty? Yet I pray for a time when there is no need to fight for such things anymore._

_We spent some days with the Young's but Sonehso:wa was eager to get home. We made arrangements with Mr. Young to facilitate letter exchanges. By the end of every second month, Mr. Young will travel to and reach the hunting cabin. Sonehso:wa gave him signs to observe along the way so he knows he is on the right path. In that way we can be in regular correspondence._

_The nights were favorable for our travels and we didn't need much in the way of blankets for warmth. I think I've grown to share some of my husband's love of the forest and the out of doors, though I doubt I'll ever stop craving a home of our own. We made Ratonhnhake:ton's hunting cabin just about ten days after leaving Albany. There was no mad rush to reach it as there had been the first time we travelled the paths between Albany and the cabin. Still, it was somewhat of a relief to reach its lovely location and I was grateful for a soft mattress to sleep on after so many days of only hard earth for our bed._

_After four nights at the cabin, we continued on to the village and reached it on the twentieth of the month. There was much in the way of celebration upon our return though the news of you and Ratonhnhake:ton's decision to live permanently apart from the village was the cause of much sorrow, particularly that of the Turtle Clan Mother. Her love for your husband is strong and though her heart was saddened she accepted his decision as if she had known he would make it all along. She is a wise woman and I know she had a strong hand in your husband's upbringing, as if he were her own son or grandson. I don't know the truth of it, for everyone is family within the clan and I fear it would be rude to make inquiries into such personal ancestral distinctions, especially outside the confines of my own clan._

_Our Bear Clan Mother, too, wishes all of her own family were with her as well. She's pleased to have regained me, as well as the child I bear within me but oh! How she feels the loss of you distinctly! Please know that you are badly missed by all and the love of everyone in the village comes with the words of this letter, as well as my own and Sonehso:wa's._

_I'm anxious to hear of your travels and of your safe arrival in the town of Davenport. You must tell me all about it!_

_Much love and regards,_

_Your sister in heart and Clan,_

_Anika Reitz_

Catherine looks up from the letter with happy tears in her eyes. Connor is leaning against the kitchen door frame watching her with his arms casually folded across his chest. His head is tilted slightly downward and to the side; a ghost of a smile flits at the corners of his mouth.

"Is everything well with your sister?" He asks.

"Yes! Better than well! They made it to the village safely, though I suppose that much is obvious by us receiving these things. Oh, I miss her so much!" Catherine hands the letter to Connor, giving him a kiss on his cheek as she does. He accepts it from her to read as she opens the second one.

_Thursday, September 15_ _th_ _, 1785 Kanatahseton_

_Dearest Catherine,_

_I think fondly of you every day and my love for you has compelled me to write this second missive. The Clan Mother asks about you and takes great delight in the telling of our stories, both from years past and recent events. She says the love we share is true and that our spirits are twined together like the vines of the beans and the stalks of corn in the fields around the village. We are meant to grow as one and only together can each be fully harvested at the close of the season. I take her words to mean she wishes for you and Ratonhnhake:ton to return to the village permanently to live out your years together with your Clan and family but I know that isn't possible. Maybe some day we can all be together as one if our paths are destined to cross at a later time._

_Every day the babe within me grows and with it, my belly! I feel near to bursting already yet I know I have much time remaining. The women have convinced me to spread an entire handful bear grease on my skin every day to keep the itchiness at bay and it seems to be working. I no longer need to scratch at my skin to relieve the formerly constant sensations, though I then need to wait for it to absorb before dressing or my clothes will stick to my belly and cause me discomfort. This means I must lie on our bed for some time with only hides to keep me decent. There seems to be no concern over public nudity here yet I'm unable to embrace such freeness of conduct myself. There are many strange practices among our people that I'm still adjusting to!_

_I tell the babe about you all the time. Sonehso:wa laughs at me for talking to my stomach but even he has recently begun to talk to it as well! He says that if our baby is a little girl, he will make sure she has the finest skins for her clothing, and he will only allow the strongest, wisest and most courageous warrior to look upon her fearsome beauty. If it's a boy, he promises to train him to be that strong, wise and courageous warrior so he will be honorable and kind, just and respected. I always laugh and remind him he can't teach what he does not know. Slovenly buffoons are incapable of noble deeds and acts of courage. It never fails to get a satisfying frown from him and at the very least a kiss or two until I relent._

_I fear my husband will eventually find me fat and unattractive in such a state yet his love for me seems only to grow with my changing appearance. He wants to touch me more and though no one seems concerned by his hands on me or his kisses, I find myself feeling scandalously inappropriate and often seek excuses to draw him away from the others so I can enjoy his attentions without fear of judgment. Look at me! Writing of such matters! Maybe I have been affected by the atmosphere here more than I realize._

_I do go on. The love of all of our adoptive family here, as well as that of the rest of the village is extended to you and Ratonhnhake:ton. I hope this letter finds you content and well._

_As always with love,_

_Your sister,_

_Anika Reitz_

_Post Script: I've sent along your things. I wish I could hold onto them as a token of you but they will do you more good in the coming winter season than me with my simple, sentimental fancies. I included a few things to remind you and Ratonhnhake:ton of the village and everyone in it whenever you miss us._

Catherine smiles and kisses the paper in her hands.

"Oh, Ani, you know I love your banter!" she whispers at it, shaking her head. Connor joins her at the table and sets the first letter down. Catherine gives him the second and takes up a nearby knife to cut the twine on the package. Inside the soft deer hide are her bear pelt jacket and rabbit fur boots. Two wooden bracelets, a shell and bead necklace, a pair of earrings and a wide, woven belt of dark, rusty red with stripes of brown leather embroidery are wrapped carefully in small rabbit furs and tucked into the boots. Catherine puts on the two bracelets and lays the other items out on the table. She holds up the belt for Connor's inspection.

"This is for you." Connor takes it from her and examines the neatly embroidered edges.

"It is finely crafted. When you write to her, be sure to include mention of my gratitude, though my sentiments will no doubt be lost when she learns of your news." He transfers the belt to one hand and steps close to Catherine, taking her into his arms so her back is to his chest, sliding his palm over her slightly rounded stomach and kissing the side of her head until she laughs and reaches up to his cheek.

"Perhaps, but she'll read my letter many times, as I will hers. It won't be lost forever. Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous."

"Then we'll eat as soon as I put these things away."

 _Wednesday, October 19_ _th_ _, 1785 Davenport_

_My loving sister Anika,_

_I can't express the joy I have experienced in reading your letters just two days ago and learning of the safe arrival of you and Sonehso:wa back home. For just a little while, it was as if you were here beside me, telling me of all your adventures and already I have read both of your notes several times over. Tears of happiness overflow me and I wish heartily that I could hold you in my arms. Instead, I'll wear the lovely jewelry you sent along with my warm clothes and think of you. Ratonhnhake:ton is wearing the belt you sent today. He has expressed much gratitude for it and wishes it to be made known to you._

_The town of Davenport is a lovely place, full of people who are warm and welcoming. Ratonhnhake:ton never spoke much of them but it's clear as day he is well loved and was terribly missed for the long time he had been away. He isn't a boastful man so it was to my great surprise to discover from nearly everyone who lives here that he invited each and every one to come build their lives here and aided them all in one way or another, be it money, protection, retrieving goods or providing medical care. Some newcomers have suggested he and I are the lord and lady of this manor house and therefore in positions of power over the people of Davenport but he always corrects that idea, insisting that the people are our friends and we are theirs, no more. Pride of place and humility, possibly borne of the few tragic circumstances my husband was unable to change that have affected his heart so deeply, compete for his loyalty. He helped expand this town and it is a source of deep emotional unrest in him that is difficult for him to speak of. The people are precious to him yet he cannot seem to accept their love in return. He doesn't feel worthy of it but as time has passed, I thankfully see less of that. I have high hopes that he'll learn to value himself almost as much as they him._

_There is much history here that is both good and painful for him. He was loathe to speak of it at first but as time has passed and I have made some small changes in the manor, he has begun to tell me more of the man who was as a father to him until just a few short years ago. Almost half of my husband's life was spent here, in this house. Making the decision to bring me here and set down roots both as a husband and a leader… It was difficult._

_There is a picture that hangs above the mantle in one of the rooms downstairs. An African man and his family. It's a portrait of Achilles, Ratonhnhake:ton's mentor, a father and friend to him for over a decade. He looks upon the picture from time to time. "Old Man…" I hear him whisper in both affection and sadness. Sometimes I think he can speak with him beyond the borders of death but I know that isn't true. Achilles shaped him, instilled in him the qualities that I hold so dear…But more importantly, he loved him as his own son. Ratonhnhake:ton was made to lead, encouraged by his mentor, and what he accomplished during the revolution against the crown, no matter how futile he thought much of it was, has brought him to this point in his life where he can truly make a difference. Whether he views what he has done for Davenport as leading or not, his compassion for people has always been his driving force. He wields immense power in his will yet with it he has humility and love of life - a tempering force to his steely determination. I thought I knew this of him before but never have I seen it so profoundly in action until now, as I watch him working with his Brothers and strengthening this little town into a mighty landmark of peace and liberty. I do believe Achilles would be so very proud of him if he were here today, for he himself is now the Mentor to many men and a few women and the number grows daily._

_You will be well pleased to know that I have the most wonderful news to share with you that is unrelated to the work of the Brotherhood or the people of this place. I discovered at the end of August that I'm bearing Ratonhnhake:ton's child! Though I have once again been made quite incapacitated by the sickness associated with it, I endure it with happiness. It seems to have lessened in intensity these past few days and I hold out hope that I will soon be rid of it. Other women who are mothers many times over assure me that it doesn't always last the entirety of the pregnancy and I may feel better as it progresses. I no longer fear losing the child as I did the other- I have not yet felt the quickening of life in me but I know it will survive._

_Oh, Anika, my sister, I wish we could be together to share our joy in bearing the children of the men we love with all our hearts. Perhaps some day I can compel you and Sonehso:wa to come here and stay for a time with us. You would love this place and the people in it. Davenport may not offer the hushed tranquility and unified activity of the village yet it carries its own sense of peace, order and comfort, for it is a growing town that is grounded in the strong bonds of cohesive purpose. There is no lack of love among the townsfolk and indeed, we are as one in our affection for one another. It's different from the village yet so very much the same. I'm happy here despite not being with you and I get the sense from your writing that you have found a similar joy there. I believe that as long as we both can hold happiness in our hands, we won't really be apart. Our love is stronger than any stretch of distance between us, no matter how great, and I take comfort in that. I can almost hear your voice and feel your soft hand in mine and if I dwell on those thoughts for just a moment, just a second, you're here with me._

_I look forward with eager anticipation for your response. I know it will be months away but the knowledge of a regular arrangement, so generously provided by Mr. Young, gives me something to look forward to and keep me thinking always of you. I'll send along my regards and thanks to the Young's for their many kindnesses to us over the past months. They are truly wonderful people, are they not? And for them to have taken in Thomas - I'm relieved to hear he's safe. Cloudy is in good hands with him. My darling mare… perhaps it can be arranged to get her here._

_But I, too, ramble on and on. I wish I could write forever but if I do, you'll never get my letter. Until we can see each other again, I send all my love to you, Sonehso:wa, the Clan Mother and everyone at the village. Ratonhnhake:ton also sends his love. We've been friends together, sisters, wedded women, and now we shall be mothers and aunts together. What more could I ask for to keep me content until the end of my days?_

_You have my love forever,_

_Your loyal sister- Catherine Parry_

_Friday, December 23rd, 1785 Kanatahseton_

_My dearest sister Cat,_

_Your letter brought me so much happiness! At the time of your writing you must have been somewhere around three months along, more or less. Now you must be nearing five! I try to picture you with your belly round and full of life but all I see is you as you were the last time we were in each other's presence and I have only the view of my own belly from above in my mind's eye, for we don't have looking glasses here. Oh, to have been able to sit with you, sharing all of this together! Yet I'm grateful for having any means to do so at all._

_In light of that, I do have the utmost in glad tidings! My dear Catherine, I have birthed my child and to our happiness, we now have a strong son! It was just this Sunday last that he came into the world during the night, and his cries woke the entire village! For that reason, the Clan Mother has named him Rata:tis, which means "He Speaks." How very fitting! He'll be almost two months old when you read this missive, for I must wait until January to get my message on its way to you._

_Sonehso:wa and I have given him a second name, in honor of my brother. We will call him Hansel Reitz when it's appropriate but for now he is simply Rata:tis. In time, I do believe he will seek out the association of the people in the greater reaches of this land. At the very least, he will know of you and yours and because of that, he will have at his disposal a less conspicuous name, as Ratonhnhake:ton does in being called Connor._

_It is too early to determine who our son will take after the most but he has a head full of the blackest hair just like his father and though his eyes are dark, I see many shades of gold and green in them when the light shines brightly. His skin is neither like mine nor my husband's but I already know he will not have my coloring. I suspect in that regard, he will more closely resemble his father as well. I keep imagining him to look like Ratonhnhake:ton when he is grown._

_Gaiachoton and Ori:te'hiyo are attentive and doting grandparents, and one or the other is always nearby, especially Ori:te'hiyo. She yearns to have more children but Katsi'tenhiyo appears to be the last of her progeny. Rata:tis brings her much joy and she is content with that. Indeed, I find there are many hands among our clan women to help me care for my babe. Sometimes I feel as if the only moment I have him all to myself is when he's at my breast and even then, a passing woman may stop and speak some words to us and touch his downy head or his tiny hands. He is the child of the longhouse and the women of it have taken to him as if he belongs to each of them._

_Even our two young friends and little sisters are never far. They too, express their longing for the day when they will have children of their own. Tsihskoko has found herself a strapping young man from the Turtle clan who seems very interested in her and he spends much of his time with her. Poor Raonraon is jealous but I have invited her to my side often and I hope that she doesn't resent her sister her love. There is nothing quite like it in all the world._

_Katsi'tenhiyo wishes for me to send along her love. She is quite a handful, always getting herself into trouble with her mother and the older ones, but she always listens to Sonehso:wa, as if he is her father rather than Gaiachoton. In that regard, my husband has shown me that he will be a good father to our son, even if he is still rather permissive in some respects._

_Oh, Cat, I miss you so! I wish for you to be here to see our son and hold him in your arms. I wish to place my hands on your belly and talk to your babe just as I talked to mine. Please tell your unborn child of me! Tell stories of us and bestow my love upon him or her. I want both of our children to know they have family that loves them so, even if they are far away._

_Until the time comes that we may embrace as sisters once again, I send you my deepest love and affection, as only you can understand. Please give our regards to Ratonhnhake:ton. Sonehso:wa would surely wish to harass him with words of sarcasm and great wit, as is his way of showing affection._

_Your sister,_

_Anika_

_Sunday, March 5th, 1786 Davenport_

_Sweet Ani,_

_I'm filled with joy at your news! I think of you and your son with such happiness as my own time grows near. The babe moves within me constantly and keeps me up most nights. It can't last more than another two months at most though. I await the time with both happy anticipation and a good measure of dread. Pray for me, Ani! I can't die and leave Ratonhnhake:ton with a newborn babe! He'd not know what to do with it. He's already so careful with me, not letting me even walk along the snowy streets over the winter without him by my side or insisting I take Achilles' ancient carriage to go a few steps. If I let him, he'd probably carry me everywhere. On days when he has to be away I always find one or another of his sailors or a man of the town knocking on the door asking if I need assistance. I know my husband sends them because they can barely look me in the eye when, even when I insist I am fine, they linger nearby for the entire day, usually in the stables so they appear to be working but if I even crack the door they're checking to see if I'm stepping out. Only when I see Ratonhnhake:ton returning and sharing in some secret signal between them I have yet to catch do they leave off. Thank goodness the snow is melting now but even the slippery mud worries my loving husband._

_I wish I could see Rata:tis, my little nephew, growing big and strong every day! I hope the winter wasn't hard on the village. We had almost constant wind that rattled the panes in the windows and took down branches from the trees in the forest. I suppose that can't be helped, living right on the coast. You remember how windy it got in New York some years. I prayed often that the wind was not so harsh inland where you wintered._

_Mr. Young has agreed to send Thomas with Cloudy to New York whenever we ask for her, though I suspect Ratonhnhake:ton will want to wait until the baby is born, I survive the ordeal and am well enough to be back on my feet before leaving me for some days to meet him. I do believe Thomas may come with her, for, as you said, Mr. Young has also written to us of sending him to my husband for training._

_But that is all speculation at this time. You'll be happy to know that over the winter, my husband has managed to rally many men to his cause and we now have two more ships docked permanently with the_ Aquila _in the harbor. Every man is devoted to the Brotherhood and they answer both to their Masters and through them, to Ratonhnhake:ton. They call him Mentor and show deep respect to him. Indirectly, I also receive a high level of respect from them, being his wife. It's a strange thing to be treated in such a way without actually being a trained member of their ranks. I share in their ways and know of what they work on so I suppose that makes me part and parcel to all that they do._

_All of these men and women who have come here permanently to work with Ratonhnhake:ton have caused the town need for new housing and additional resources. I sense that in time, Davenport will no longer be a sleepy town but rather a bustling city! Perhaps it will one day rival Boston or New York! For now though, it still retains much of its charm and continues to feel like a large family._

_I've had a few occasions to visit with the men from Boston: Stephane, Duncan and Clipper. They travel to receive orders or bring news to my husband most frequently. They, too have been busy, bringing new ones with them to meet the Northeast Mentor. I informed them of your safe arrival and happy new addition. They send their congratulations and kind words for you and Sonehso:wa's happiness._

_For some weeks in January and February, Ratonhnhake:ton was compelled to take the_ Aquila _out of the harbor to personally address a contract that had gotten beyond the capabilities of his men. I missed him terribly but my friends here looked in on me frequently, as did the men he had, again, sent to monitor my safety. They kept me well stocked with water and firewood and were always ready to assist me if I needed to go out. I suppose those situations will arise from time to time, though my husband assures me that the days when he will be gone frequently and for many months at a time are well behind him. I trust in his abilities and I have faith that he will always return to me but it's also only natural to worry for his safety while he is gone. I try not to because I promised him a long time ago when we were still sailing the southern seas that I'd never hold him back for selfish reasons. My feminine weaknesses would only hinder him so I must learn to keep them inside and be strong for his sake. My role may not be to fight by his side but I wage my own battle here at home so he can proceed with his without distraction. Even still, when he returned and I saw the sails of the_ Aquila _in the harbor, I was overcome by tears of the utmost relief. Fortunately I had gotten them under control by the time he came to me in the manor and I was able to greet him as a proper Assassin wife should: with a hot meal and nothing but pride for his success. He knows me better than that, of course, and we talked about it later after he'd been satisfied that I was completely well and apologized for leaving me alone while pregnant. I had to assure him many times that he was right to look to his responsibilities first. I adore the way he loves me._

_Ani, my sweet sister, by the time you read this, perhaps I'll be holding my own child and I will be alive and well to write of it. If don't survive, know that I love you with all of my heart. I always have, and I don't wish for you to be sad at the loss of me. Remember the happiness we have shared in our lives and know that I have experienced the love and contentment of a life complete. Had things been different and I had remained married to Francisco, I would not be able to say such things. I've held perfection in my hands and rejoiced from the fullness of my heart. Not many can say the same and so if living beyond the birth of my child is impossible I'm certain I can die peacefully, happily, and with the knowledge that there is no greater way to live than as I have with you as my friend and sister and Ratonhnhake:ton as my husband and the father of my child. I'm so very grateful to you both for shining brightly in my life._

_My only request to you in the event of my death is to never forget me. Tell your children of your sister, tell them I love them all even though I never got to meet them. And don't forget about Ratonhnhake:ton. He will despair at the loss of me, for his emotions, though generally hidden from sight, run deep- frighteningly so- I fear he will take risks far beyond his capacity to survive. Send Sonehso:wa here to temper him if it seems he's unraveling. He's the only man who really understands my husband._

_I love you Ani. Don't be afraid for me. No matter what happens it is not within my power to change it. Just pray that God is merciful._

_Your sister,_

_Catherine Parry_

Catherine walks down the stairs slowly to make herself some tea, holding onto the banister tightly with her right hand and taking one step at a time. Though it is only just April, the days have been cloudy and windy, keeping the temperatures cooler than Catherine is accustomed to for early spring. A hot cup of tea is just what she needs to warm up and relax. Her back has been aching more than usual and the baby has been restless, pushing against her insides for days and making her feel bruised. Connor comes out of Achilles' room and climbs the stairs to meet her half way.

"I said I would come if you called. Why do you insist on doing this?" He takes her free hand and supports her with his other arm.

"You're busy. Your men down there need you to work with them, not run foolish errands for your wife."

"They understand." Catherine looks at him and scoffs at the notion and then stops on the step. Her face falls and she looks down at her stomach.

"What is it?"

"I feel… as if I've just… lost control…" She releases the banister to lean forward and reach past her stomach to her skirts. They are wet to her touch and she turns her horrified face to Connor.

"I do believe I've had an accident." Connor doesn't answer her. He merely picks her up and carries her back upstairs to their bedroom. When he sets her down next to the bed, Catherine clings to his hand and clutches her skirts up between her legs, holding them against herself and using them like a towel.

"It can't be what I thought. I think… it's time." Connor's face changes from worry to absolute panic before he schools his expression to calmness.

"Lie down then. I will call for the doctor."

"I'll ruin the bedsheets."

"I do not care. You need to lie down!" His stern voice allows for no further disagreement and Catherine quickly obeys him, turning back the blankets and sitting with her shoulders against the pillows. He never expresses exasperation or raises his voice to her so for him to allow his concern for her to alter the way he speaks, she knows he must be someplace precarious. Connor walks swiftly to the door, turning his head to look at her as he rounds the corner. As soon as he is out of sight Catherine hears him charging down the stairs. Voices are raised in the downstairs room at the front of the house but she is unable to discern the words. She can't be bothered to care because some cramping begins in her back that almost seems to be more kicks from the baby but they behave differently, expanding around in wide swaths bilaterally before subsiding. When nothing further happens afterwards, she lies back on the pillows and takes deep breaths to calm herself.

More rushed stomping on the stairs is followed by Connor stepping back into the room, as cool and unhurried as if he were merely coming to retrieve an item on an afterthought. Catherine can't help but laugh at his affectation of calmness, which is clearly for her sake. He kneels by the side of the bed and takes her left hand carefully from where it rests just beneath her breasts, as if she is a delicate petal easily broken by such a brutish man as he. Catherine smiles at his concern and moves her gently held hand against the warm skin of his face as the sounds of the Assassins leaving the manor filter up the stairs to the bedroom. Connor watches Catherine as she breathes slowly.

"I have sent the men out to find the doctor and if not him, Diana. They will get help one way or another."

"You take such good care of me, my love."

"I would not be a decent husband or worthy of you if I did not." Catherine shakes her head at him for his self deprecating statement and they stay in their intimate pose for some time until Catherine takes a deep breath as another similar band of discomfort spreads out from her back and up over the top of her abdomen. Connor raises his eyes and leans closer to her with concern as she tightens her hand on his and sits partially up off the pillows. She presses her free hand to her stomach until it eases again and she slumps down onto the pillows. She breathes rapidly when the cramping fades, realizing she had been holding her breath.

Catherine experiences several, somewhat more intense episodes over the next two hours that leave her panting before a loud knocking sounds at the door to the manor. Instead of getting up to answer it, Connor turns his head toward the bedroom door and shouts, startling Catherine.

"Enter! We are upstairs!" The front door opens and both Dr. White and Diana's voices can be heard as the doctor instructs Diana to get water boiling in the kitchen and to gather more cloths. As the doctor climbs up the stairs, another round of pain envelops Catherine's abdomen, making her whimper and writhe on the bed as she tries to hold in the sound. Connor leans over her, providing something sturdy for Catherine to cling to and she does, clenching the heavy fabric of his sleeves in her fists and sagging down onto the mattress when the contraction leaves her. Only then does she notice Dr. White standing at the foot of the bed.

"Well, well! It looks like you're quite into your labor now doesn't it? I apologize that it took so long to get here; I had a nasty injury at the mill to sew up." Diana joins them only a minute later, bearing a kettle of steaming water, a bowl and several clean dish rags and a some old sheets.

"There was already 'ot water, so 'ere we are." She sets the kettle and bowl down on the floor, shuts the bedroom door and places all but one of the rags on the foot of the bed near the doctor. Coming to the other side of the bed, she climbs right up on it beside Catherine and gently dabs at the sweat on her forehead.

"Oh, darlin' we're gonna get ya' right through this in no time!" Catherine's lip quivers at her words and she looks between Connor, Diana and the doctor with worry.

"I'm so afraid!"

"Now, now, all women are frightened a' their first time but yer gonna be jus' fine and you'll 'ave a lovely baby t' make ya' forget all yer fears." Diana's confidence does nothing to soothe Catherine and she clings tighter to Connor's arm. He smoothes a tear from beneath her left eye before it can fall.

"Birthing me killed my mother!" she whispers and begins to tremble. Connor joins Diana in softly shushing her.

"Please, WildCat, do not talk like that. You will not die from this." Diana nods sternly.

"Listen t' yer 'usband, darlin'. Sometimes they can be known t' talk sense from time t' time." Connor shoots her a glower but Catherine tenses up as her next contraction takes her over and diverts his attention. Diana rubs her arm where she clenches the bedsheets next to her hip and almost appears to be arching herself completely from the bed. She cries out at last and Connor presses his lips together in dire frustration at being unable to help her. At last it ends and Catherine moans between every breath in recovery. Dr. White clears his throat from the end of the bed where he is drying his hands off after having washed them.

"We won't let anything amiss happen to you Catherine. Now. I'd like to take a look and see where you're at." Catherine nods her head and reaches down to her damp skirts to begin pulling them up. Diana looks over at Connor.

"Mos' men don' want t' see all this from 'ere on. Ya' can go downstairs if ya' like."

"No. I am staying with my wife."

"Alright, darlin' but ya' 'ave to know that the doctor's word is law now. Ya' must promise t' stay outta 'is way an' do as 'e says, no matter what."

"I cannot promise that." Diana tilts her head and furrows her brow at him as if he is a disobedient child.

"Then ya' 'ave t' leave the room, Connor." Catherine interrupts the quiet argument they are having over her by squeezing Connor's hand.

"Ratonhnhake:ton, please. I need you here so you must listen to them. Please promise you will. I can't do this without you!" She reaches up to his collar and then grabs it as she is taken by another wave of pain. Catherine tips her head back against the pillows and Connor is stricken by her pain.

"Very well! I will do as you say! Just help her!" Diana nods and wipes more sweat from Catherine's brow and neck with one hand while pulling up her patient's skirts the rest of the way, exposing her legs and abdomen completely. Dr. White presses his hands on various places of her bared stomach, nodding, and then announces his intentions aloud, though Connor doubts Catherine even hears him through her pain.

"I need to check your cervix, Catherine. You will feel me now." He reaches to her with both of his hands, pressing his left onto her pelvis just above her pubic hair and inserting two fingers into her carefully. Connor grits his teeth and watches the doctor touching his wife's most private of body parts while she is gripped by her contraction. His lips pull back into an angry, snarling grimace that exposes his teeth. If not for his promise and Catherine's grip on the collar of his jacket, he would argue the necessity of such an act and perhaps compel the doctor to stop by force. Diana makes a clicking noise with her tongue at him and he looks over at her. She shakes her head with a meaningful look as if she had just read his rebellious thoughts. Holding out the cloth to him over Catherine, Diana looks at it and then back at him, shaking it slightly until he takes it from her.

"Keep the sweat outta 'er eyes. 'Old 'er 'ands. Kiss 'er if she wants ya' to. Talk t' 'er. Tha's what ya' are t' do and tha's 'ow ya' 'elp 'er through this. _Not_ gettin' angry." Connor drops his eyes from Diana, feeling somewhat defeated, and watches his wife weeping partly from pain and primarily from fear. He softly wipes her tears away and leans down to kiss her damp forehead. How any woman survives such a traumatic experience is beyond him. All he can think of is the pain he knows is to come and that it will become far worse before it gets better for her. Looking back down at Catherine's feet, he watches Dr. White washing off his hands again.

"She's more dilated than I was expecting. This could progress fairly quickly. I'm sure she'll be pushing within the hour. For now, we wait until the contractions are closer together." Diana nods and strokes Catherine's arm where she lies rather limply on the bed and has let her other hand fall from Connor's collar.

"Ya 'ear tha'? Yer almost done. If ya' give all ya' got when the good doctor says to push, this'll all be over soon." Catherine nods and closes her eyes, only to open them wide only a few minutes later as she is gripped in the fist of powerful muscle spasms that knock the breath out of her. Diana leaves her side to prepare a thick layer of several rags, which she adeptly slides into place under Catherine's hips when she lifts them up slightly during another of her contractions.

The pain takes Catherine back to the hunting cabin when she felt the life of her unborn child leaving her in waves of similar agony, though this time it is on a much larger scale. Anika had been her voice of reason then and Connor has taken her place, holding her close, talking to her through the unspeakable fear of dying that holds her in its clutches even as her body gives life to their child. He never moves from her side, though the hard floor beneath his knees must be painful after so long. The doctor is nowhere to be seen and the skies have grown dark outside the window. _Is it night already? Where did the evening go? Has this truly been happening for hours?_ Catherine knows she closed her eyes between episodes but perhaps she drifted off. The smell of her own sweat and the overly human scent of the fluid that come from her body earlier make her nauseous. The combination of that and another rising contraction causes her to weep in misery and Connor kisses her forehead for possibly the hundredth time, smoothing back her sweat soaked hair with gentle fingers and pressing the cloth to her neck.

Dr. White reenters the room and waits for Catherine's body to relax.

"It's time, I believe. Let me just check again." He repeats his physical examination of her and nods calmly.

"Yes. Listen to me, Catherine." Catherine turns her head on the pillow, away from Connor's face, and opens her eyes to look at the Dr. White.

"When your next contraction comes, you must bear down, but not with everything you have, not yet. Do you understand?"

"Yes." She only has to wait a minute before the pain builds over her tortured belly.

"Push now, darlin'." Diana says softly from where she stands beside the doctor. Catherine gathers herself and experimentally attempts to use the muscles that seem as weak as water. It feels better to actually push and she gives a bit more effort to it.

"That's good, Catherine. You can push harder." Dr. White says. Catherine pushes until the contraction ends.

"Stop. Alright, stop now. There's no use working against your body. The next one will come soon enough." Catherine complies with the doctor's directions, allowing her body to tell her when to push and when to rest. The idea of ending the whole process has outweighed her fears and she collects her determination between every effort. She squeezes Connor's hand tightly until her fingers are bloodless with the strain and she grits her teeth. Catherine fights the pain, using her will power to turn it into her strength when pushing. Though her body is beginning to feel like it is tearing apart, she trembles with her resolve and continues to push every time the doctor asks her to until she is too exhausted to continue.

"Come on, keep at it! You must push harder!" Dr. White urges her. Catherine screams out her frustration.

"I can't! I'm trying…" The contraction ends and she collapses back onto the bed.

Diana and the doctor exchange a glance. Catherine is unaware of it but Connor sees it.

"What? What must we do? She is trying as much as she is able." His voice comes out as a snarling rasp created by stress and worry for Catherine's deteriorating strength. The doctor looks him in the eyes with a flat expression.

"The baby needs to come out now or it will not survive and neither will she. We must try getting her up onto her knees."

"She is in no condition to get up," Connor argues.

"No, she isn't. But we're going to do it anyway. Get behind her and pick her up." Connor hesitates for only a moment before obeying the doctor. He loops his hands under Catherine's arms and climbs onto the bed, pushing the pillows aside with his knees as he lifts her limp form. She makes confused noises in her semi-conscious state as Connor shuffles forward on his knees, holding her up against his chest with his arms around her body beneath her breasts. Diana and Dr. White reposition her legs until she's settled on widely spaced knees. Diana gathers up Catherine's dress and Connor adjusts his grip to hold onto the fabric just as his wife is seized again. She comes fully awake with it and both Diana and Dr. White urge her to push. With a building scream, Catherine obeys, using the very last of her strength to make a final effort.

"Yes, tha's it! Tha's it! Oh, 'ere it is! Come on! Push!" Abruptly, it's over and beyond the view of Catherine's disheveled and sweaty hair that dangles down over his arms, Connor can see a tiny and somewhat bloody newborn in Dr. White's hands. Diana is smiling and using one of the cloths to clean it off. Its little arms and legs move inward when she releases each one after wiping it clean, as if trying to curl itself back up and then it lets out a tremulous cry that makes both the doctor and Diana smile and laugh. At the sound of it, Catherine stirs in Connor's arms. Dr. White looks up at her.

"You've got a perfect little girl, Catherine. She's pink and healthy, well formed and energetic. You did well." He looks at Connor.

"As did you." Connor is speechless, torn between watching the baby, his daughter, moving and crying heartily in the doctor's and Diana's care and easing Catherine down onto the bed and repositioning pillows under her head. She's weak and exhausted but she musters enough energy to lift her hands out toward the child and speak hoarsely.

"Let me see her." The doctor hands the baby to Diana, ties two strings around the cord extending from the baby's stomach and cuts between them. Diana quickly swaddles her securely in several layers of cloth. While she does, Dr. White has one more request for Catherine.

"You've got push one more time first. It will be easy and I'll help you." He presses on her stomach and Catherine expels the placenta, which the doctor wraps up quickly in the bloodied sheets. Diana carries the tightly wrapped baby to Connor where he stands next to Catherine's head to distract him from the mess.

"'Eere ya' are, darlin'. Yer baby girl. 'Er mama's waitin'!" Connor is terrified of the tiny bundle that still cries in Diana's hands as she raises it toward him but he bravely takes his daughter gingerly in his hands.

"'Old 'her 'ead, love." She instructs him kindly. The baby seems smaller and lighter than most of his weapons yet somehow she has already struck Connor straight to his heart and dealt a blow to his soul that he will never recover from. When once he had thought himself incapable of feeling for anyone or anything in a way that remotely came near to his devotion and adoration for Catherine, he now finds himself buried by a need to protect and love this little human with ferocity and a willingness to give up his own life without hesitation, just as he would for his beautiful wife. He lowers himself down to his knees again beside the bed, unable to pull his eyes from his daughter until he moves her toward his wife. Catherine makes a soft noise when he places their daughter on her chest for her to hold and weeps as she kisses her and strokes her finger over the wet mat of black hair that peeks out from under the cloth covering her head. In Catherine's arms, the baby relaxes and stops squalling but she continues to take rapid breaths through her pursed lips for another minute or so until she at last quiets. The doctor discreetly takes his leave while Diana gently cleans Catherine's lower half up as much as she can.

"Look at her, Ratonhnhake:ton! She's ours." Catherine breathes.

"You have made me the most wondrous gift, WildCat, and not without great suffering on your part." Catherine looks up at him with a weak smile at his solemn words.

"It was worth it. What should we name her?"

"We do not have the Clan Mother to do it. She is yours. You must name her."

"She's ours. She should have a clan name and an English name." They are both silent as they think over the many discussions they had had about this very topic. Connor speaks up first.

"I have always preferred the suggestions you made once about naming her after either your mother or grandmother. Names have strength within families."

"I just can't imagine calling her Olivia. All it makes me think of is an olive and I dislike the taste of them." Catherine looks down at their sleeping daughter and talks to her.

"Are you an Amelia, then? Will you grow tall like your father and be slender and graceful like the willows that grow down by the river?"

"O:se. A willow tree is also beautiful, as you are and as she is. O:sehiyo."

"Should she have such a long name? Would it be wrong to keep it simply O:se?"

"It would not be wrong. All know willows are the most attractive of trees and always grow where there is life-giving water nearby." Catherine nods, thoroughly exhausted. She falls asleep to Connor stroking her cheek and staring at their daughter.

He starts when Diana touches his shoulder and he turns instinctively before realizing who it is and holding his palm up in a placating gesture. No one has successfully snuck up on him in decades and it is a testament to what the recent event had done to him that Diana had come within ten steps of his position without his knowledge.

"I apologize!" Connor offers, appalled that he had frightened her, for she stands with her hand on her chest. Diana shakes her head and drops her hand to her side.

"It's alright. Ya've been through a lot tonight. We'll let 'er sleep for now but I'll 'elp 'er clean up better in a bit an' make sure she isn' bleedin' too much. Ya' should rest, too, Connor. It's after two in the mornin'."

"I will escort you home."

"No. Please. I'll just rest in the nursery. Terry knows these things can take all night so he isn' expectin' me 'ome." Connor looks at his sleeping wife. Catherine's cheeks are pale and the delicate skin under her eyes is dusky from her depleted state.

"Will she live?" Diana leans down and feels Catherine's skin lightly so she won't wake her.

"She's not runnin' any fever an' she didn' bleed overmuch. Jus' the usual amount from a woman's first birthin'. I'd say she'll be up an' about in a day or so." Diana turns her attention to the baby on Catherine's chest.

"An' this little dear one. Amelia, is it?"

"Amelia. Yes. Amelia or O:se. She is of two worlds but more of this one than mine. Her second name will help her to always remember that she has my family in her blood." Diana nods at him and pats his arm.

"Get some rest." She leaves the bedroom and Connor hears her walk across the hall to the other room and then a few moments later the creak of her lying down on the bed in there. Connor stealthily moves to the dresser to snuff the lantern and then over to the other side of the bed and crawls onto it next to Catherine. He lifts the blankets that had long since been pushed aside and drapes them over his wife and daughter before covering himself. He is unable to sleep as he watches over them in the darkness. He's still awake when the baby begins to make soft noises that turn into the tiny cries of an unhappy infant. Catherine wakes to them and Connor watches her once again weep in happiness at the sight of her. She opens her dress and moves the infant to her breast. Amelia takes her nipple right away and Catherine reaches over to Connor where he lies beside her. They hold hands as their daughter captures their attention completely.

A light tapping on the door heralds Diana's appearance.

"Oh, my darlins! Look at ya'! Like ya've been doin' it fer ages!"

Amelia doesn't nurse for very long before falling back to sleep. Catherine gives her to Connor and he takes her once again with trepidation and awe at her smallness. If he wasn't so afraid of dropping her he could probably hold her in one hand. Instead, he keeps her tucked in the crook of his left elbow with his right hand covering her as additional support. He can't take his eyes from her for more than a moment at a time as Diana helps Catherine up onto shaky legs and aids in getting her out of her clothing and bathing her. She makes quick work of stripping off the sheets from the bed and replacing them with fresh ones. By the time Catherine is dressed in a clean shift and her hair is braided over one shoulder she is more than ready to rest again. Connor brings their daughter to her when she is settled comfortably. The sight of the happy couple smiling at each other and then at their firstborn is the last thing Diana sees as she leaves the room and heads home in the first light of dawn.

**October, 1788**

Connor comes in the front door, walks up behind Catherine where she is sitting in the kitchen slicing the last of the late season's green onions and carrots from the garden and holds out a folded paper between his second and third fingers.

"Look what came for you." She places the knife down, wipes her hands on her apron and takes the folded paper from his grasp.

"A letter from Anika!" Catherine says with a smile and looks up at her husband with happiness. Connor leans down to kiss her cheek just as Amelia comes running over from where she was playing with a doll, some wooden blocks and painted dowel pieces at the sight of him. She grabs onto his leg and tugs insistently on the fringes that hang from his boots just above his knee with her little hands. She is dressed in some clothes sent to them some months ago from Kanatahseton as a gift from the Bear Clan but Catherine can see Anika's distinct touch in the embroidery that decorates it. The entire outfit is slightly too large for her; at two and a half years old, Amelia is just a bit smaller than average. She seems to be taking after Catherine in her early years of life so the tunic, made for a somewhat taller child, almost resembles a dress and the pants have been rolled up into cuffs at the bottom. It always makes Connor happy to see his daughter clothed in the garments of his childhood home so Catherine ignores the ill-fitting nature of the outfit in favor of seeing him smile and dote upon her. He lifts the child up over his head and she kicks her plump, bare feet in the air, laughing in happiness. Connor swoops her down toward the floor and then raises her back up high, sending her long, wavy black hair flying out from her head.

"Touch the ceiling, O:se." The little girl raises her hands up at her father's command and Connor holds her just low enough that she can't quite reach it. She wriggles and stretches her arms upward until she shrieks at him in frustration.

"Up! Rake:niiiiiiiiii! Up! Up more, Papaaaa!" Connor boosts her higher until her fingers reach the plaster and she laughs. He bends his wrists until she is horizontal in the air and lowers her down until she puts her hands on his cheeks. He kisses her several times with an upturned face before lowering her down and tucking her under his right arm like a package. He starts opening cabinets with his left hand.

"Where has our daughter gone, WildCat? I cannot find her." The child squirms in his grasp, clinging to his coat buttons and giggling as he lifts a hanging copper pot away from the wall and looks behind it.

"Look in the pantry. Maybe she's inside a sack of flour." Catherine says with a smile as she watches the game the two of them had taken up over the past few weeks. This particular game Connor plays with her usually lasts no more than a minute or two before Amelia gets too riled up and he has to stop. She doesn't quite understand yet that it's only a game and in the beginning she once became so distressed at his convincing act that she burst into tears, hysterical that her father couldn't see her. Connor had taken her with him for most of the day afterwards so he could shower her with love, feeling terrible that he had frightened her so. Ever since, he has never let it progress anywhere near as far. Catherine breaks the seal on the letter and turns her attention from their antics to read Anika's note.

 _Monday, August 18_ _th_ _1788, Kanatahseton_

_My dearest Sister,_

_The crops are being gathered in the fields and a time of some rest is soon to be upon us. You'll be pleased to know that we're planning a trip to come see you when the harvest is done! We will come spend the winter with you as I promised I would in my last letter. Rata:tis is growing quickly, a tall boy of nearly three years, and little_ _Tsi:tenha'iio_ _grows even faster. She's a hungry babe and makes many more demands on me than our boy had at the same age. One of the other women in the longhouse, whose babe is much smaller and not as needy, sometimes takes her and helps me feed her. I must sleep and eat more to keep up and still it doesn't seem like nearly enough! Though I haven't tried them on in ages, I am sure my old dresses would simply hang from me now, I've grown so thin from this hungry child! I've seen other women chew nuts or meat until it is like a porridge and feed it with their fingers to their children. While at first I was appalled at the method, I'm beginning to understand the value of strong foods for such a small child's hungry belly._

_The Clan Mother often tells me of how much Rata:tis reminds her of Ratonhnhake:ton when he was just a boy, before the tragic loss of his mother. Indeed, they both have a much lighter skin color than everyone here and those who knew him then say he was an active boy. Gaiachoton speaks fondly of when my husband was a youngster as well. He says he sees so very much of his son in Rata:tis, for he was tall, always tall, as he grew. It seems our son will follow in the nature of his father in more ways than his height, for he makes trouble often. I find myself having to scold Sonehso:wa for encouraging such behavior in our son by laughing at his antics. I know it draws disapproval from the elders when he brings creatures from the river into the longhouse and puts them where the older girls will find them. It always causes such a ruckus! But he's not all mischief and tricks. He loves to sit with me before bed while I feed his sister and Sonehso:wa tells him stories about the earth, Sky Mother and the children she bore. He learns the languages of his people quickly! English and German from me, Kanien'keha from most everyone else and Ogwehoweh from his father and grandfather. I find myself feeling dull by comparison!_

A knock sounds on the door and Amelia runs to answer it with Connor right behind her. It's more Assassins gathering for the meeting. The sounds of Thomas' voice as he talks to their horses and gets them settled in the stable reaches them just as the front door shuts. He'll be coming in when he is done to meet everyone in Achilles' room, which contains only the desk and a large table where maps are frequently spread out and has affectionately been dubbed The Study or, more accurately, The Old Man's Study. Everyone has arrived at last. The Study really isn't big enough for them all, now that more and more have settled in the Davenport area. Thomas, the youngest member and lowest ranked recruit, will end up sitting on the bottom step to listen as he usually does. Amelia likes to sit next to him and mimic his rapt attention or play with the hay that frequently is stuck to his clothing. Soon Connor will need to switch their operations to the basement where there is more space.

It seems like every week there are more recruits being sent in for training, assignments and mission contracts. On any given day there are at least half a dozen ships moored throughout the small harbor and because of the influx of sailors, the town has expanded. Only recently, a third inn has begun to be built and it has more than triple the occupancy of the Mile's End and her sister inn, the Carriage House, combined. The most common rumor surrounding its construction is that when old Peg Leg died last year, he left all his money to an enterprising gentleman for the sole purpose of creating an inn named after him. It was apparently quite a fortune, surprisingly enough, for the old man lived a spartan life in a dilapidated hut by the harbor.

The residents of Davenport have embraced the changes and welcomed the influx of people to their once sleepy town. Though most Assassins only pass through, many have settled their families here and it feels like every month there is a new house being built or land being cleared. Norris's mining operations have expanded to quarrying granite for sale in Boston and New York and sometimes as far south as Pennsylvania and as far west as Buffalo. The lumber mill runs from sunup to sundown to keep up with the growth and along with their sons, Terry and Godfrey have taken on additional apprentices from among the newcomers. Big Dave has converted his entire house to a workshop and turns out tools and other useful items as fast as he can. He has a waiting list and has been considering hiring more men to distribute the load. Lance, too, has begun to feel the strain of so many in need of his skills and has begun to build himself a separate workshop near the mill for his woodworking products.

Once the weekly meetings get going, they can last for hours so Catherine will need to provide some refreshments. Connor walks with the newest arrivals and they call out greetings to Catherine when they see her. She waves to them in return so they can join with the rest of the gathered Assassins without delay. Catherine resumes her reading.

_Perhaps when we are once again together for a time I will be reminded of our adventures and I won't feel so dull anymore. Oh, Cat, I look forward to it with such joy in my heart! Sonehso:wa hides his excitement well but I know it's there. He thinks we can leave at the end of September or the beginning of October so I'm thinking we will arrive sometime around when you receive this letter. Expect us to come from the west. It will be easiest to avoid passing through New York but we'll be sure to stop in and visit with the Young's for a short visit on our way._

_The summer has been dry this year so the harvest should go quickly. That is good for us travelling sooner but it weighs heavily on the minds of the village, as it limits our stores for the winter. There has already been talk among the men of extending the hunting expedition longer to collect more meat and fish to dry as supplement to the crops. At least with us visiting you, there will be four fewer mouths to feed. It wouldn't surprise me if Sonehso:wa makes one trip back during the winter to check on things. He worries about his father. Gaiachoton was injured by a bear in July and though he is back on his feet he still has to use a walking stick some days to get around and the Turtle Clan Mother has forbidden him from joining the other hunters this year. He grumbles about it but Ori:te'hiyo scolds him and reminds him he should be grateful he has his life._

_They both send their love. I do wonder if Gaiachoton might seek permission to accompany us here as a way to stave off his boredom. He and Sonehso:wa are so very alike. They never like being idle._

_As always, I wish you all good health. We will be able to see each other soon and it warms my heart._

_Your sister,_

_Anika Reitz_

Amelia comes over and climbs onto the bench beside her mother just as she finishes reading. Catherine gives her the letter to play with and shifts the bench back from the table to pull the child onto her knees.

"Look at you! You've turned as dark as your Papa playing out there in the sun!" Catherine exclaims at her daughter as she combs her errant waves back from her face and detangles them with her fingers.

"I'm sailor, Mama!" Amelia waves the letter in her hand over her head and Catherine laughs at her declaration. Ever since Amelia learned to walk she had spent more and more time with Connor, especially when he has things to do on the _Aquila_. She is the darling of the sailors and even Faulkner has been known to sit down and play with her from time to time. He beams with such delight every time he sees her that Catherine almost believes he's the girl's actual grandfather. She'll have to speak with him soon and discourage him from turning her into one of his sailors just yet, though with a father like Connor, she knows it's unlikely she'll be able to stop her from climbing into the rigging before long.

"Are you? You look like a little girl to me."

Amelia looks up at her mother and Catherine sees so much of Connor in her. Her usually fair skin has indeed tanned significantly under the summer sun and her eyes are a dark brown shot with her father's warm, golden amber when the light shines on them just right. She even has a few freckles sprinkled on her cheeks that have begun to appear along with her tan. Connor, however, is always saying she resembles Catherine more with her little, turned up nose, wavy, perpetually tangled hair, oval face and full, rosy lips.

Connor is warming up to his subject in the Old Man's Study already when Thomas finally comes in and rushes to the stairs. When Catherine leans slightly to look over her shoulder at her husband, Connor catches her eye with a twitch of his lips into a brief smile that he quickly suppresses lest he draw attention away from the matters at hand. Instead, he casually reaches up and tucks his braid behind his ear. Catherine exhales in a quiet laugh at their secret sign. Amelia leans over and rests on Catherine's stomach with a sleepy sigh. All the excitement has left her in need of a nap so Catherine strokes her soft, black waves and settles her daughter more comfortably on the small amount of room remaining on her lap these days. The time is near when their little family of three will gain one more.

Catherine hopes their children will grow to be like their father: brave, strong, honorable and above all else, grounded in love and kindness, for in no other way will they be able to carry on the legacy she and especially Connor are working to establish in Davenport. The groundwork for that hopeful future is being laid this very moment by the people in the room behind her, the ships in the harbor, the many brothers that have joined in protecting the freedom of the people who inhabit this bustling town and indeed the rest of the land, led by men and women who have taken up the title of Mentor, just like her husband. It's a good, bright future, full of endless possibilities and a place for everyone.


	27. Epilogue

I became aware of agony again.  It got worse every time I woke up – my head, my body – every part of me felt used up and transparent.  I pushed the clear, arched glass device that blocked my view down toward my feet and sat up.  Blood ran out of my nose and onto my lips, tasting salty as I gasped and shuddered on the slightly curved surface of the table I was on.  The door burst open and the familiar, reedy, hunched assistant came hustling in.  I scrambled to get off the table and lurched toward my quarters but he caught my upper arm. 

“Not yet, 22.”  He smiled like a predator, pinched the neckline of my thin hospital gown and used it to wipe the blood away, adding another stain to the others that had collected there during this endless day. 

“We’re getting closer.”  He said quietly, almost as if he cared about me.   I’d been incarcerated here for days.  These nameless freaks had injected me with something and taken me in the subway while I’d been waiting for a late train out of the city.  I woke up here, naked except for a hospital gown, and I was surrounded by a group of suits and lab coats. 

In the beginning, they’d pumped me full of drugs to make me compliant and then strapped me to this table.  They forced me to relive what they called “Ancestor Memories” or some such bullshit.  It was confusing at first because they put me into different people but then they let me stay in the one that was the easiest for me to settle into, if that makes any sense. They keep saying that the woman whose body I’ve been primarily inhabiting is a gold mine of indirect information and they were lucky to have me because I have a strong genetic link to her.  They keep telling me to find her husband’s secrets because they no longer have “viable direct assets,” whatever that means.   Strangely, the more time I spend as her, the more I feel connected to her.  I have a small family and I’ve never bothered trying to learn about relatives farther back than my great grandparents so... maybe what they’re saying is true, as crazy as that is to believe.

The deafening click and screech of the intercom turning on rang in my ears and made my head want to detonate.  The harsh voice of the boss-suit-man came on and the sound of him made me retch.

“No more wasting time!  Get her back on the table and plug her in.  We’re manually moving several years forward and switching generations.  Perhaps the firstborn can lead us to what we seek.”  Another screech and click and that was it.  The assistant was his usual, cold self once again.  He pulled me back toward the table by my arm and turned me to face it.  He stood watching as I started to climb back on.  More blood ran from my nose and I watched as it fell off the edge of my lip.  It seemed to drift slowly downward through the air until it dashed against the corner of the table, splashing outward in a crimson explosion and speckling the IV pole there.  Somehow I managed to turn onto my back but when I reached down to pull my hospital gown over myself better, the assistant impatiently knocked my hands away and slid the glass device back up into place.

“Leave it!  Back to work now, 22.”  As the familiar darkness started to overtake me, I fought it with the same words I always used, repeating them in my mind like a chant. 

**I'm not a number.  I'm Kristin.  My name is Kristin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Misguided's sequel: 
> 
> Davenport
> 
> It will be a while but it's in the works.


End file.
